


Royalty

by houseofthedragon



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bodyguard!Jon, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Flawed characters, Repost but with a lot of changes later on, Smut, dany can be a bitch sometimes but we love her, jon is not related to the starks in this, princess!daenerys, quite a slow burn i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 20:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 43,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20297782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofthedragon/pseuds/houseofthedragon
Summary: [REPOST of a deleted story]As a kid, Jon Snow accidentally saves the King's life, an action which will change his life forever. A few years into the future, as King Aerys' life hangs by a loose thread due to a deadly disease, he assigns the only man he trusts the most in the world to protect his daughter, the future Queen of Westeros, from the threats of her evil cousin, Viserys.The only issue is Daenerys and Joncannotstand each other.[ON HOLD]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> well, hi!
> 
> i did promise i would bring this story back if i had the chance to complete it and i did (well, almost, there's still like 2 chapters left but it's mostly done). i already explained why i felt like i had to take a break from writing in this fandom last year and while not a lot has changed which is understandable given the fact that season 8 happened and we're all looking to cope with it in different ways, i still hold royalty very dear in my heart and never stopped writing it because i really love this story. so, yes, it's back! but since the final product is over 200k words, i'm not going to post all the chapters in one go since i've changed a LOT to the story in the later chapters (i started writing this in the beginning of 2017 and my tastes have significantly changed in this time lol) and i want to correct the errors since there are many, the updates will be rather slow as i have other stuff to work on.
> 
> i hope this helps a bit with what happened to our ship this year, i still love jon and dany no matter what d&d or even george might do to them. i've loved them as individual characters first of all and nothing in s8 will be able to make me forget that, no matter how ooc they both were. and i hope we can move past this and still continue to appreciate OUR song of ice and fire. :) 
> 
> i'll try to re-upload my other stories as well but only when i've completed them like this one which will take a while since uni is kicking my ass.
> 
> aaand that's all i have to say, happy reading (or don't because the first chapters are identical to what they used to be, i'll let you guys know when things will change). x

Everybody loves the Targaryens.

  
They’ve ruled peacefully over the continent for centuries now and made sure justice always reigned over Westeros. What else would anybody want? Even people who don’t necessarily understand politics still know Westeros is a happy and free country mostly due to their reign.

  
Point is, it’s not strange to hold the royal family close to one's heart around here. Almost everybody does. Every once in a while, people will have a little celebration in the honour of the dead Kings and Queens and big toasts in that of the living ones.

  
But Jon Snow’s admiration for the King Aerys Targaryen differs from the normal love others hold for the Targaryens.

  
Jon owes Aerys his life. Without him, Jon would have been nobody today.

  
Jon grew up in an orphanage and despite popular beliefs, it was not as bad as it could have been. He was happy for most parts of his childhood, he never wondered too hard about why his mother left him on the front step of that place or why he would never be like the other kids with big families and numerous siblings. Because Jon always felt like he belonged there, with the other outcasts.

Together, they were no longer outcasts – normal people were, not them.

  
Jon cherished his non-biological family and he grew up in a safe environment that he gladly accepted would be his home from then. He made friends, some who left and got adopted and some who stayed with him. He even had his first kiss in that place, but it was disgusting and the girl’s mouth smelled of fish and Jon thought he’d never kiss another girl if all of them smelled like that. Anyway, the conclusion is, Jon had no complaints growing up. Not more than other children. He was happy.

  
At 12, Jon became fascinated with fighting. Boxing, wrestling, name it; he loved it. So badly that he wanted to be one of them. One of these mighty men he saw on that television screen in his shared room, the one whose images were laggy and of poor quality. He wanted to fight too. He wanted to be someone, not defined by his name or the parents he never had but somebody so big that nobody would care whether he grew up as an orphan or not.

  
He went to train two times a week at a local gym filled with big guys who all looked deadly. Jon never allowed himself to be scared. _Fear is just an illusion_, he told himself the first day, when everybody looked at his frail body like a joke. It did not help that he was shorter than most of them. It was difficult at first. He had to hide the bruises and pretend that every step did not hurt his back and legs when he walked. When he slept, he had to lie down on his side because that was one position that did not feel like he was being repeatedly stabbed. 

It took perseverance to keep going and money, too.

  
And that was the thing, Jon did not have money to become a professional. At 13, he worked little jobs at the orphanage itself and at a restaurant downtown, where he cleaned the loos and took orders. It was not even a legal job since he was technically still a kid but he needed some money to pay off the training and it worked, well, for a while it did. He had enough for the trainings but not nearly enough money to participate in championships and local games. He had to settle for simply buying a ticket and watch the other rich, _talentless_ kids play.

  
_I’m better than all of them_, he would think cockily when he sat and watched them fight. They were weak, their techniques were mediocre and they were whiny about getting hurt. Jon always left the stadium scoffing to himself, thinking that at just thirteen he could outdo each of these dudes.

If only he had the money….

  
That was when he quite literally saved the King’s life.

  
How could a poor orphan boy save the King’s life, one might ask? Well, Jon likes to believe it was destiny since the story is too absurd to be real.

  
The King used to walk around the streets aimlessly back then. He would be incognito of course, with big funny hats, glasses and overcoats that hid his whole body. Bodyguards would fade into the picture too while still maintaining an eye on Aerys. He loved doing that, strolling along parks and markets and just watch everyone. He enjoyed the normalcy of it all.

  
Jon was 15 by then, old enough to get a few more jobs and clever enough to find new routes to sneak out of the orphanage at five a.m. to go to training. He was always in a hurry, running across pavements and crossing roads hastily to get to his destination.

  
That was when one bright sunny morning, he ran into the King.

  
Literally.

  
Ran into him – hard and fast and knocking them both on the ground. Jon winced as his cheek made contact with the road surface, his right arm getting stuck in an awkward position with the person he knocked down. He huffed and quickly got up while the older man stayed down, his hat thrown across the street.

  
Jon rolled his eyes and said, “watch where you’re going.” Even if it was _his_ fault.

  
That was when he saw he accidentally knocked the person’s cup of coffee down too. He felt a bit bad, watching as the man struggled to get up. But he was in a hurry and he considered just storming off before the man could curse him out. Still, the tiny good part of his heart reproached his actions so he sighed and held a hand out for the stranger.

  
Only when the man took his hand firmly to get up did Jon almost fall over (again) in surprise.

  
With the hat and the glasses off, it did not take a genius to see who it was.

  
“A-A-Aerys Targaryen?” Jon asked in wonder, suddenly awestruck and close to pissing himself with a sudden rush of fear.

  
Aerys ran a hand through his silver hair before quickly bending down and putting his hat back on, glancing around cautiously. He was unrecognisable without the hair. But _gods_, it was him! The fucking King of Westeros. Jon had only seen him on TV. He even thought it was just a myth, that there were no Kings anymore. But here he stood in front of him, tall and older than what he looked like on his small screen at the orphanage.

  
“What got you in such a hurry, little boy?” Aerys chuckled.

  
Jon gaped at him like a fool, his heart pounding against his ribcage. Would they kill him for having run into the King?

  
“Sir!” Three men came sprinting towards them, one of them seizing Jon immediately while the two went to Aerys to inspect him for injuries.

  
The man behind Jon grabbed his arms and tried to twist them behind his back but Jon knew this trick too well so he dodged the man’s attempt and kicked him in the stomach instead, in sudden panic. He couldn’t die now. He wasn’t even a champion yet. He did not even participate in a single fight!

  
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Aerys said and laughed at Jon's agility. “He just knocked me down. _Accidentally_.”

At that, the man let go of Jon and stepped aside. “Are you on your way to school, young man?” Aerys had asked.

  
Jon’s cheeks grew hot. He had been ditching school for so long during that year he barely knew what his classroom looked like anymore. It got him into trouble but Jon never learned. That was not important, anyway, fighting was more crucial. “Yes,” Jon muttered a pathetic lie to the King.

  
“Ah, well—”

  
“My King.” Another man came to them, saying the words in a hushed tone, “did you drink the coffee?” He had a worried look on his face.

  
Aerys frowned and widened his eyes in laughter. “I’m afraid not, Wilkson. This child accidentally ran into me. But we’ll get another on—”

  
The man sighed in relief. “No. Thank the gods you did not, sir. It was poisoned.”

  
Although Jon was confused at the moment, he could not help but let out a little gasp. Someone was trying to poison King Aerys?

  
Aerys’ smile faltered. “What?”

  
“Viserys strikes again. He knew you’d be going to that coffee shop, as you have for a few weeks now. He took the chance and it would've worked,” the same man went to explain and started shaking his head. “I told you, sir, you can’t afford to wander around town with limited security anymore. It's getting riskier.”

  
Aerys cursed under his breath. “Damned Viserys, when will he realise that family does not kill each other?" He looked back at the man named Wilkson, "Do we have enough evidence against him this time?”

  
The man lowered his head. “You know how cunning he is. Of course he sent men to do this and they won't give him up. That’s not the point, what I’m saying is this was the closest strike in years. You could have died this time, truly.”

  
“I could have,” Aerys said slowly and looked back at Jon, freezing the little boy up. “If it was not for him….”

  
All the men turned their eyes to Jon, who stood there in shock. There were so many mixed emotions in their eyes, thankfulness and awe and so much more. It made Jon feel more important than he ever did in his life. Nobody looked at him like that, like he actually mattered. Jon gulped. What was going on? Had he really just saved the King’s life?

  
“Uh, uh – I—” Jon stammered.

  
Aerys put a hand on his shoulder and Jon stared at it, wide-eyed.

  
“What is your name?”

  
“Jon Snow.”

  
Aerys nodded to himself and uttered the words that would forever change Jon’s life, “Jon Snow, do you know what you just did? You saved a King’s life. I owe you everything.”

  
Jon shook his head. “N-no, you don’t. It’s alright. I-it was an accident.”

  
“Don’t be ridiculous. Everything happens for a reason. You and I, we were meant to meet.” Aerys smiled kindly. “Tell me, young man, what is it that you wish for the most?”

  
Jon had not answered right away. No, instead, he felt bile rising up his throat and he emptied his stomach on the sidewalk—next to the fucking King. After that, Aerys took him to a restaurant with his bodyguards following close behind. It was weird. Unreal. He bought Jon food (great food, the best of the best from the menu – things Jon would not have had money to buy even if he saved from all the jobs he had). Jon felt nervous under the monarch’s watchful gaze but he ate anyway, too hungry to miss out on such an opportunity. He ate and ate until his stomach felt like it would strain against his shirt and explode. Aerys watched him the whole time, chuckling.

  
And slowly, almost unconsciously, Jon started telling Aerys that he wanted to be a fighter.

  
It was strange how easily Jon found it to open up to the King, in just a matter of hours he had told him about his dreams and ambitions and the King listened. It was not like his friends at the orphanage who would mumble, ‘yeah yeah’ and ignore Jon, no. Aerys actually took time to hear him out. How cool was that?!

  
Jon prayed that the day was not a cruel dream. Or else, why else would a King spend a whole day with him listening to his pointless rants about his favourite wrestlers? Even his bodyguards had suggested that they should head back to his house (or castle?) multiple times but Aerys waved them off.

  
Aerys seemed to – weirdly – enjoy Jon’s company. He wanted to know about his life. Jon had told him everything. Well, maybe it was dumb of him to tell a total stranger about his whole existence but hey, it was the King, so what could go wrong?

  
“I have a daughter around your age,” Aerys told him after he bought Jon ice-cream.

  
Jon was too busy licking to care about what he was saying. But he suddenly remembered the one time he saw Aerys’ daughter on television. “Oh yeah,” Jon said, wiping the droplets of vanilla cream from his chin, much to Aerys’ amusement. Jon struggled for the name. “Da…Dae…”

  
“Daenerys,” Aerys completed with a smile.

  
Jon nodded.

  
“She will be Queen one day.”

  
Jon shrugged.

  
“Ah, Jon….” Aerys’ voice grew tight with raw emotions suddenly, “you’re still young but you saved my life today. Can you believe that a stupid coffee cup would've killed me? How embarrassing is that! My ancestors died in war and I would've died by poisoned caffeine.”

  
Jon was too young to understand the gravity of the situation. All he knew was that it was getting late and he was still conversing with the freaking King. They sat in the park, watching the sun as it set, casting the last rays of light for the day. It was peaceful around them. Jon still believed he was daydreaming. If he was, well, damn that was a long dream.

  
“I wonder who will be there to save Daenerys when I’m gone,” Aerys had mumbled, voice so unlike that of a King, softer and more contained – a father scared for his daughter.

  
“I’ll protect her,” Jon vowed, as he bit into the delicious cornet.

  
Aerys laughed. “Will you?” His voice held mirth as he ruffled Jon’s hair.

  
Jon buffed his chest out. “Of course! Once I become a fighter, I could protect you and your daughter, like I did today.”

Aerys had laughed again and sighed. “I would like that.”

In the following months, Aerys paid for Jon’s fighting academy anonymously. Only Jon knew about it. They had become close friends. The King would even attend his competitions in disguise, watching Jon grow into a fighter. Jon would always search for his blue eyes in the crowd and when he found them at each and every one of his matches, Jon felt undeniably proud. He could lose but he did not care, a King was watching him. When could the other fighters say the same? Aerys made sure Jon had everything and that he did not have to work four jobs for that. Jon promised he would never tell anyone he was friends with the King (not that any of his stupid friends would believe him anyway) and even promised to go to school in exchange for his fighting lessons.

What Aerys Targaryen did not know when he first met Jon was how important he would be to him. What Aerys did not know in that park a few years ago full of funny promises, was that he would actually need Jon’s service in the near future. What Aerys did not know was that that day changed everything, in both of their lives. What Aerys had not known then was that the little boy with curly hair and big, grey eyes would become the most skilled fighter in Westeros in the next years.

What Aerys did not know was that he was developing a deadly disease with every breath he took and that the only person he could trust the life of his beloved princess with when he would die was indeed no other than Jon Snow.

* * *

The first attempt on Daenerys’ life was made just a few months after she graduated from university.

She wanted a _grandiose_ dinner party for her birthday. As per usual, Daenerys invited tons and tons of people from university, something Aerys always frowned upon. He knew his daughter loved having a normal, non-royal life with her friends. But still, he was too familiar with the dangers to be fully fine with it. He accepted on one condition: that every person would be thoroughly inspected before dinner and that his bodyguards will be standing at each and every entrance, with two especially at Daenerys' side at all times.

“Dad, that is unnecessary,” Daenerys had argued.

“There’s no such thing as being too careful,” Aerys said.

Daenerys shook her head. “There is a thing called being too annoying, though. They’re my friends, not political enemies.”

“You’re a princess,” Aerys reminded her, as he often had to do when she grew up.

Daenerys always seems to forget about her title, her duty.

“I’m also a woman fresh out of university who wants to have a normal birthday without your fifty bodyguards over my shoulder,” Daenerys told him.

Aerys laughed. “Fine, I’ll tell them to stay a bit further behind your shoulder.”

Daenerys smiled at last. “I know you’re worried,” she had told him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “But we’re fine. Viserys is all talk but no action. I’ll be fine.”

Aerys almost believed her. Almost allowed himself to hope that nothing would happen that night. That was his mistake – hoping. It all happened suddenly, one minute he watched as Daenerys and her friends talked and laughed and the next, the pie was served.

“Gods, this is my favourite,” Doreah, one of Daenerys’ closest friends at university, had mumbled before reaching out for the food.

Another girl swatted her hand away. “Doreah,” the girl warned, “this is not how you behave in a royal household!”

Dany snorted and rolled her eyes. “It’s okay. Have a go, Doreah and tell me how it is.”

Doreah took a mouthful and started chewing slowly, animatedly enjoying it. She closed her eyes.

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. “How’s it?”

Slowly, Doreah’s expression started morphing into something else. Her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes opened wildly.

Daenerys’ smile faded as did everyone else’s around the table.

“What is it?” Daenerys asked worriedly.

“The taste…,” Doreah trailed off and coughed once. Twice. She started coughing loudly and Daenerys gasped as she watched a droplet of blood run from her friend's nose and the next second she started choking, blood was spilling from Doreah's mouth before anyone could prepare themselves for the horrifying sight.

Everything became a blur then. Chairs were pulled roughly and shouts erupted, Daenerys was yanked away first as her eyes stayed on her friend who coughed and coughed until her whole dress and tablecloth were bloodstained.

“Take the princess inside!” A voice commanded over the havoc. “Now!”

Daenerys was hauled over someone’s shoulder and her piercing cries joined the rest of the group. Her eyes burned and her lungs felt like they would collapse at any moment. She struggled to breathe, struggled to keep a grasp on reality. With a buzzing static sound in her ears and her vision getting blurrier, Daenerys succumbed to unconsciousness.

***

Daenerys Targaryen never liked Jon Snow. It started from the beginning. She had an important basketball match at school and that was one thing her father always promised: to attend her school activities. He swore that despite being a King, he would still allow her to have a normal adolescence and do things everybody else did at school. And that he would try his best to be as much as a normal father as the other students had. 

That day in the middle of the field, sweat beads rolling down her forehead and her wrists hurting from all the shots – Dany looked around, searching for him. He would be easy to spot, with his bodyguards, and usually, all the teachers would flock down to where he stood ‘coincidentally’.

He was not there though. And Daenerys hated it. She hated the looks from the other students, quick whispers exchanged. She was winning. She scored four times. And there was nobody to cheer for her, nobody to look at her proudly from afar. Daenerys had wished she was just a normal teen with a normal dad for once. Because in moments like that she felt the difference between her world and the rest of the kids’.

Not to mention that they were terrified of her. One day, a boy accidentally ran into her in the hallways and got on his knees and begged for his life while the school watched. Even the teachers said nothing to stop him, as if they'd allow her to execute him with a sword if she wanted to. It was so weird. Daenerys felt so unbelievably uncomfortable she just ran away. 

She had been the one who insisted to attend a public school rather than be home-schooled like all of her family members. She had done it so she could be normal. And yet, she could never attain that normalcy.

She was furious on that day. Success is nothing when there is no one to share it with. She had every right to be angry in her mind. She grew up spoiled by everyone, so it definitely felt like a blow to her ego that her very own father would miss one of her matches. A semi-finale! What could be more important than that, what could be more important than her? And he _promised_. 

When she got off her limousine and stormed in the castle, she ignored every ‘good afternoon’s from the maids and guards. She went straight to her father’s room, red with fury. If he was going to offer an excuse, then she freaking hoped it was worth it. It had to be, Aerys would not have done this if it was not for something of the uttermost urgency. 

It was that day she met Jon Snow.

A boy her age, seventeen maybe. He had curly hair and stupidly pretty eyes and he was in her father’s office, laughing with Aerys, while she had believed something as serious as the end of the world was occurring for him to have missed her game.

“Dad?” Daenerys asked carefully.

Aerys sobered up and looked at her. “Oh, Dany. You’re back already?” He was smiling at her, oblivious. 

“Yes.” She gritted her teeth and looked at the boy. "You missed my match," she announced.

Aerys’ mouth had dropped open. “Gods! Barristan, I told you to remind me.”

Aerys’ long-time friend and companion looked at the King apologetically, looking down.

“Normal parents don’t have workers remind them of their children’s basketball matches,” Daenerys had snapped, hiding her hurt by layers of anger. “Who is that?”

Jon Snow had introduced himself then. Like a goddamned fool. He bowed then blushed and tried to shake her hand and then shook his head, all in confusion. It was obvious Jon had never been in the presence of royalty before. He hurried over his words like a maniac, “Sorry, I’m – I’m Jon Snow. Princess. My lady. Ma’am?”

Aerys threw his head back in laughter. “Ah, I thought you would have gotten better at that Jon. Dany, this is the boy I told you about…remember? The orphan? I’m helping him with his fighting lessons.”

“Oh.” Daenerys’ anger did not fade the slightest. So what? Aerys could be charitable on other days, that day was about _her_! “What is he doing here?” She failed to hide the bite in her words.

“I wanted Jon to visit the castle, he’s never seen one,” Aerys had said.

_Many people haven’t, let’s invite them all_, Daenerys had thought sarcastically. She tried to maintain a straight face – tried to not let her frustration show. He was putting a complete stranger before his own daughter? And she was supposed to be okay with that? And he had absolutely no clue how shitty it made her feel? Aerys had often talked about how he wished he had a son, how he wished Rhaella hadn't died so early so they could have had many more children. Maybe he was naturally clueless. Just as then the words used to hurt Daenerys, the implication that he wanted sons rather than a daughter, the notion of him inviting a complete stranger in the castle rather than attend her basketball match - something that meant the world to her, hurt equally as much. 

And Aerys – completely oblivious to Daenerys’ opinion about Jon – even had the smart idea of asking, “you know what? What if you show him around, Dany? You two could be friends.”

Daenerys blinked. And put on the fakest smile and sweetest voice when she replied, “oh yes. It would be my honour, father.” Even a fool could have noticed the sarcasm dripping from her mouth, she was surprised by how ignorant Aerys was being.

Aerys looked proud of himself. They walked out of his study together, Jon Snow lagging behind as Daenerys’ heels clicked loudly on the floor, her nerves ticking along.

When she shut the door to her father’s office behind, she dropped the smile and turned to Jon. “Find your way around,” she hissed at him, “today’s _not_ the day you befriend a princess.” She flicked her hair behind her shoulder at his startled face and walked away sassily, swaying her hips purposefully.

After that, they had rarely seen each other. And if they did, Jon did not dare to bother her too much again. He got the hint. And she was glad for it.

That was a few years ago. Granted, she might not be as petty and jealous as she used to be.

But does that mean she likes Jon Snow any better? No.

“Dad,” Daenerys grunts in annoyance, “I do not want Jon to be my bodyguard!”

“Barristan!” Aerys calls dismissively, his fingers typing furiously at his silver-coloured laptop.

“Yes sir?” Barristan Selmy comes in the room quickly.

“Make sure the events of last week get nowhere in the news. I want every magazine and news channel to be filled with excellent articles about Daenerys’ birthday party going exceptionally well. Okay?”  
Barristan nods and leaves the room just as fast as he stormed in.

Dany sighs. “Dad, are you listening to me?” she asks.

“Sure princess,” he mumbles distractedly. “Hmm, Tyrion?”

The little man rises from his desk in the corner of the room and waltz to the King in full attention. “Yes?”

“How much do Doreah’s parents wish for the silence?” Aerys asks in a hurry.

“We’ve already taken care of that, sir,” Tyrion answers curtly. “She’s recovering fast. The poison did not get past her throat, thank goodness.”

“Thank goodness?” Daenerys inputs sarcastically. “She could have died.”

Tyrion offers a smile. “Could have.”

Daenerys huffs. “I doubt she’ll even speak to me now,” Daenerys says sadly. They did not allow her to go to the hospital, afraid the press might see. Doreah has not yet responded to any of Daenerys’ calls or texts.

“Tyrion, everyone else,” Daenerys says loudly, at last, needing her father's attention and getting tired of being ignored, “leave. I’d like to speak with my father alone.”

“But—” Tyrion starts to protest but one deadly look from Daenerys and the words die on his tongue.

The door clicks behind the last bodyguard and Daenerys gently pulls Aerys’ laptop away from him. Aerys makes a sound of objection but Daenerys frowns at him and her father finally exhales. “What is it, Daenerys?” Aerys demands slowly.

“Jon,” Daenerys starts once more and shakes her head, “it’s not necessary.”

“Daenerys, someone tried to kill you. On your birthday.”

“Not someone, Viserys.”

“Exactly. Your cousin.” Aerys looks troubled. “I don’t even know how the pie got there. I still have no answer to questions that have haunted me since.” He leans on the table, looking at Daenerys with wide eyes, “I don’t know who to trust anymore,” he whispers.

“We have some very trustworthy men. Tyrion!”

Aerys quirks an eyebrow. “How will a dwarf protect a princess?”

Dany presses her lips together. “We’ve got Sandor.”

“One big man does not mean full protection,” Aerys argues.

“And how would Jon protect me any better?” she snaps. “He’s barely a few years older than me.”

“Do you even know how many championships he’s won?”

“But—”

“And you know I trust this man with my life,” Aerys continues, eyes fierce like fire. “More than Sandor, more than Tyrion. I don’t trust one person in this castle with my life. Or yours. But Jon, yes.”

Daenerys does not understand her father’s love and respect for this boy. Yes, he might have saved his life (total coincidence there) but that was years ago. He’s done enough to repay him. Daenerys stubbornly crosses her arms over her chest. “We’ll hire new men,” she proposes.

“We don’t know if they can be trusted.”

“I’ll be careful on my own,” she tries harder.

Aerys offers her a sceptical look. “You would have been in the hospital right now if it was not for your friend eating first. I’m not saying you’re irresponsible but…you know how it is.”

Daenerys sighs heavily, “why not someone else?”

“And why not him?” Aerys argues, looking at his daughter quizzically.

Daenerys clamps her mouth shut. She can’t overcome her pride and tell her father how she once felt about Jon, it would make no sense. And she can see Aerys making fun of her jealousy, calling it ridiculous. So she shrugs nonchalantly and responds, “I just…does he even know what it means to be a royal bodyguard? Honestly?”

Aerys smiles. “He’ll learn.”

Daenerys knows she’s lost this fight. Her father is a hard man to convince, even more politically. And the only thing that matters more to Aerys than politics is Daenerys’ safety.

A knock comes at the door soon after the pause in their conversation.

“That must be him,” Aerys says happily and gets up from his desk.

Dany blinks. “Um, who?”

“Jon.”

Her jaw drops. “You invited him already?” she asks incredulously.

“Of course, honey.” Aerys grins. “He starts today.”

***

After leaving the orphanage and having made enough money to buy his own house, Jon promised himself one thing. No matter what, no matter when and no matter where – he will always be ready to help Aerys, out of anything. Even if he was the King and would probably never really need his help.

This man had changed his life. At twenty-four, Jon is more established than all of the people with whom he grew up, better-known than all of them. Although being a fighter does not equal the popularity of big actors and singers, Jon is still _someone_. His childhood dream. He is happy, doing what he loves, at such a stable point in his life that sometimes he himself does not believe it. What he does know, however, is that none of this would have been possible without Aerys.

Even if Jon had worked hard for it, money rules the world. That’s a step in his career that he would not have been able to change or bypass. And how would he have gotten the money? For all the championships, the sponsorships, the training…. His little jobs proved little efficient when it came to the big, scary professional world.

He cannot _not_ be grateful for Aerys. It’s weird to call the King a father figure but Jon silently thinks of him as such. Very silently. And discreetly. It would be too embarrassing to say that out loud or in any conversation with any other human being since the whole thing still sounds unbelievable to his own ears.

When he gets a phone call from Aerys, Jon does not care that it’s four a.m. and that he had come back home at two. He wipes his eyes quickly and picks up. “Aerys, hello.”

“Jon. How’re you, son?”

Jon clears his throat to change his groggy voice back to normal, sitting up tiredly on his bed. His back hurts, having hit the ground too hard yesterday in a playful match. “I am good and you?”

“Not so terrific,” Aerys answers. “Listen, Jon, I’d rather not do this over the phone. I’ll have a driver pick you up at five.”

Jon blinks in surprise. He has been to the castle many times when he was younger but in the previous year or two, such visits were rare. Aerys and Jon are still close, but Jon is an established adult and Aerys a King and their relationship has evolved more into regular phone calls to check on each other rather than physical visits. Jon tenses up. “Is everything alright?” he asks.

“No,” Aerys tells him, voice clipped. “That’s the problem. Is it okay, then? Five?”

Jon frowns but nods nonetheless, “I’ll be ready.”

“Okay, see you.”

“Bye.”

Jon does not even hesitate before cancelling his date with Ygritte, a shy girl who came to one of his tournaments asking for an autograph for her brother. Jon thought she was quite beautiful so he asked her out. However, a first date can surely wait. Aerys needs him, a pretty face is not important right now. 

The ride is quick and wordless. Jon is accompanied inside by the driver and greeted at the main door by two bodyguards. He spreads his arms knowingly as the two of them advance forward and thoroughly check him and every curvature of his outfit before nodding briskly, indicating that he can go.

Jon’s fingers are twitching. He is anxious about what it is that Aerys wants to see him for. He walks past Tyrion, Aerys’ most trusted advisor. In the time since Jon has gotten to know Aerys,  
the King has familiarised him with his faithful staff and the important people in his life. Even his daughter, but that is just a whole other matter and Jon will not consider himself familiar with her at all.

“Snow,” the dwarf greets pleasantly. “I assume Aerys has sent for you.”

“He has. Is there something I should be worried about?” Jon asks, even if he is seconds away from finding out.

Tyrion looks troubled. “Viserys.”

“Again?” Jon asks incredulously. “Fucking hell, how many times does that asshole have to try to kill the King before someone can put his ass in jail?”

He receives a few eerie looks from nearby maids and guards. Jon does not care. They know him. They know his language is nothing like royalty. Nothing about Jon is. Maybe that is why they seem so unsure why Aerys would like such a person – sometimes, even Jon does not have an answer to that.

“Not the King,” Tyrion answers, looking troubled. “He tried a new tactic now.”

Jon frowns. Aerys’ wife is dead. Most family members are. If not him then…. Jon inhales sharply. “His daughter?”

Tyrion does not reply but the look on his face says it all.

Jon sighs, dreading this impromptu rendezvous even more.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Tyrion says, nodding and walking away.

Jon takes in a deep breath before knocking.

When Aerys opens the door himself, Jon breaks into a small smile. Aerys returns the gesture, his eyes crinkling as he opens his arms welcomingly. Jon has to lower himself to the King’s height to embrace him, closing his eyes briefly before reality has to sink in.

“Is that a cut?” Aerys asks Jon when he pulls away.

Jon touches his brow, to where he is pointing and chuckles. “Took a hard punch there and the guy was wearing a metal ring,” he explains.

Aerys shakes his head and turns around, “Jon, you’ve met Daenerys.”

Jon finally looks away from Aerys. To Daenerys.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Probably Westeros’ most beloved woman. Beautiful, smart and compassionate. Often seen at charities, always striving to connect with the people and the real world rather than sit in a castle in pretty dresses. Strong fighter for equal rights in all domains. What’s not to love about Daenerys, right?

Jon has a few ideas. She is insufferable, this girl. Maybe she does help a lot of good causes (which Jon has his doubts about, many celebrities just say stuff like that and don't actually do anything or if they do, it's purely for the publicity) but _gods_ is she annoying. Jon still has a bitter reminder of how she first looked at him, like she could not believe she was having to deal with someone like him. Nothing has changed. Their encounters have always been brief and she’s always, _always_ made snarky comments.

But Jon is still a man. And it is quite hard to not notice Daenerys. He has always been blown away by how ethereally gorgeous she is but all that beauty is ruined whenever she opens her mouth to him.

“Of course we have met, dad,” Daenerys says, breaking his trail of thoughts. She crosses her arms over her chest, gaze not flickering from his.

Jon’s upper lip twitches, an easy sign of anger and annoyance.

“Well, let us sit and talk,” Aerys says.

Daenerys scoffs. “No. Let’s just talk. Jon, I was almost killed at my birthday party—”

Aerys sighs, “Daenerys.”

Daenerys clenches her teeth and continues, “but my best friend took the poison instead. Great news! Yay! But now my father thinks that if you don’t become my _knight in shining armour_ then Viserys will definitely be able to kill me next time. Don’t know why he even thinks that you'll make any difference to my safety! Apparently you’ll be testing my pies before I eat them now, since you’re _so_ good at protecting people, even if the only heroic thing you ever did in your entire life was knocking my father down on the streets.”

_Ah, there it is_, Jon thinks after her rant. _The reason I cannot stand her._

“Daenerys.” Aerys sounds exasperated.

Jon stays quiet, as he has often learned to do around this girl. Despite her icy voice and displeased tone, Jon knows that the matter is rather serious and whether she admits or not Daenerys was scared of what happened. She could have died. It is only logical for her to exteriorise that fright in some form, she chooses anger. At him, however, he does not understand why. He believes it is easier for her since they already do not like each other.

She makes it sound as if him saving Aerys was a bad thing. Yes, the whole thing might have been an accident and he does not expect her to be thanking him for having run into her father but what does she want him to do? Go back in the past and let him be poisoned instead?

“What?” Daenerys asks innocently, blinking at her father. “You say you trust this man so I laid out the facts instead of beating around the bush.”

Jon gives a careful nudge of his head. “I am sorry for what has happened to you,” he says, trying to sound polite. He looks back at Aerys. “However, I don’t understand why I’m here.”

“I would like to suggest a job as Daenerys’ bodyguard,” Aerys says, deciding to be straightforward as well. “I think Daenerys will be in safe hands with you. Extra security is never too much, even if my daughter does not think so.”

  
Jon is surprised, to say the least. He immediately shakes his head. “I mean…I’m not even trained for that.”

“Exactly,” Daenerys jabs.

“But,” Aerys insists, silencing them both with a hard glare, “you’re one of Westeros’ best fighters. There’s a reason why people fear you.”

Jon is still uncertain. “Fighting on rings is not the same as protecting a girl.”

“A woman,” Daenerys corrects snappily. “See, dad? Even _he_ thinks that is dumb.”

“Jon,” Aerys says pleadingly. “I would not have asked this of you if I was not desperate.”

“But—”

“Join me outside for a walk,” Aerys cuts Jon off before Jon can even protest, his smile definitive. “Let’s go. Alone.” Aerys leaves the room without another word.

Daenerys grunts in irritation. Jon sighs and turns around to follow Aerys but just then, Daenerys steps in his way. He looks down at her, she is shorter than him and up close, her eyes are a deeper shade of violet.

Distracting.

She offers him a smile which he knows is not real.

“Listen Jon,” Daenerys says, voice sweet and friendly, “you and I both know that’s a bad idea. You’ve never done this before, plus I know it’s obviously not how you wanna be spending most of your days. So go out there and tell him no.” Her smile widens, eyes capturing his. She looks almost innocent and truthful here. _Almost_. If Jon did not know how desperately she does not want this, he could have been fooled by her lovely smile. “He’ll listen to you if you take a second to truly persuade him. You’ll do that, right?” She tilts her head to the side, batting her eyelashes at him.

Jon shrugs. “I’ll try my best.”

Her smile flickers for a second. “Yes, do that,” she says instead, voice still sweet but coming through gritted teeth.

Jon exhales when she turns around and sways her way out of the office. Clearing mindless thoughts, he follows her out but to see Aerys instead.

Jon finds Aerys in the garden, arms crossed over his chest as he stands there, emotionlessly staring at an oak tree.

“Is there a reason why you want me to do this?” Jon asks, coming up behind him.

Aerys spares him a quick look before looking back ahead. “If I can’t trust my own family with my daughter then I don’t believe I can trust anyone in this castle,” Aerys replies. “We still have not figured out how Viserys was able to even—” Aerys stops talking and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. “This is all a lot, Jon.”

“I know,” Jon says gently, walking two more steps to stand next to the King. “I understand how hard it must be for you. And trust me I would kill that guy if I ever got to. But, how do you know Daenerys will be any safer with me than with people who have worked under your service for years?”

Aerys turns to face Jon, brows furrowed. “Because they’re working for me. A King. That is all they know me for. You are different, Jon. You know _Aerys_. Not the politician, not the King, not the guy on TV. I need someone who knows what my daughter means to me to be protecting her. When it gets tough bodyguards bail out and run to other jobs. I don’t want my daughter’s safety to be just a job, I need it to be a priority.”

Jon licks his lips. “I understand.” He really does. But...gods, he does not want to do that. 

“You will be paid just the same as a normal job. Much more, if I am honest. You won’t talk about this to anyone. This way Viserys won’t have you under his radar like he does with all of Daenerys’ bodyguards,” Aerys says thoughtfully, “I cannot let that man touch my daughter, do you get it?”

Jon nods slowly, comprehensively.

“And she has to be prepared to take over after my death,” Aerys adds quietly.

Jon watches a bird land on the tree before finally processing his words. He laughs. “Well thank God you’re not dying then,” Jon jokes.

Aerys does not reply.

Jon falters. Looks at the King. Blinks. “I said thank God you’re not dying,” Jon repeats.

Aerys watches the bird in silence.

“Aerys,” Jon says slowly, his breath catching in his throat. He shakes his head, “No….”

“Should have stopped smoking a long time ago,” Aerys finally tells Jon, his voice distant. “I figured out too late.”

“Bullshit,” Jon hisses, “you’re the King.”

“Kings don’t die?” Aerys questions sarcastically.

Jon feels his heartbeat quicken, his brain functioning quickly. “No. Fuck no. You’re not dying. They would’ve known if something was wrong with you, they would’ve—”

“I’ve known for four months,” Aerys replies. “Nothing could be done then, nothing can be done now.”

Jon gulps back the rest of his words, staring at the side of Aerys’ head who refuses to look in Jon’s eyes. “You never told me,” Jon mumbles to himself.

“I have not even told my daughter,” Aerys says. “Nobody knows.”

Jon does not know what to think, for a split second he feels that he is the one dying instead. He doesn’t speak, fidgeting in place, trying to find something to hold onto. Anything. His shoulders slump down. “How long?” he asks, fearing the worst, “do you have left?”

“We don’t know,” Aerys admits, “they say it can be drastically slowed down but cannot be cured.”

Jon runs a hand over his face and hair and humourlessly laughs. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he mutters, angrily kicking a pebble, the petty action doing nothing to soothe his ire.

“What I’m asking you for Daenerys,” Aerys starts out, “consider it as a last wish.”

  
Struck by his words, Jon can only stand in place – frozen and out of focus as Aerys walks back inside wordlessly. It’s not fair, it really is not. Not like he even has a choice in this matter now. Jon knows he would not have been able to refuse in the first place but now....

Upon hearing footsteps behind him, Jon does not make a turn. Knowing it’s Aerys.

“So, you’ve talked to him?” Not Aerys then, a feminine voice.

Jon nods to himself, finalising a decision – finalising the whole matter. He turns to face Daenerys whose eyes are latched on him expectantly.

“Yes,” Jon answers.

Daenerys seems relieved.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Jon adds.

Daenerys’ relief flashes in front of him, her mouth pulling up in a scowl. She struggles for words, opening and closing her mouth repeatedly before sighing in frustration. She mutters something under her breath, so quickly Jon does not quite catch it and he does not think he wants to know what it was. It was clearly not endearing. She rigidly walks up to him, perhaps thinking she appears intimidating closer. She does not. But she is unnerving, her pale eyes brave and _so_ cold, made of ice. “This is not over,” she hisses out.

Jon shakes his head as he gazes down at her. “Oh, you have _no_ idea.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I need help with a boy.”

The first reaction Daenerys receives is from Sansa, who excitedly straightens herself up and gasps dramatically, “oh? Who is it? My brother’s going to be mad if he finds out he has competition.”

Daenerys has grown up with Sansa. She is one of the very few people Aerys believes is ‘worthy of a princess’. Daenerys’ father used to always be troubled about sending Dany to public schools, knowing children will usually keep away from kids who are not like themselves. Knowing that Daenerys would be an outcast, no matter what. When his prognostic was spot on and the other children were always a bit terrified and wary of her, Aerys used to say, “don’t worry – you don’t need hundreds of friends to go through life. Only a true one who'll be there every step of the way.”

He introduced her to Sansa when both of them were only six years old. Sansa is the daughter of one of Aerys’ closest friends, Ned Stark, who is not only a well-known politician but a self-made millionaire as well. At first, Dany did not want to befriend Sansa. She figured her father only wanted them to be friends because he was friends with Ned and Daenerys did not like being forced into anything – especially not friendships. They should come naturally.

But unlike her initial assumptions about the red-haired girl, which were pretty bad admittedly, the two girls clicked instantly. Although they did not go to the same school or even lived too close to each other, they still became best friends from a very, very young age. Their close bond from such an early stage forged a friendship that remains special for both of them to this very day. 

Aerys and Ned still wanted more, however. From the beginning they looked for a way to combine their families forever, to mark their friendship for this generation and the future ones to come. And what better way to make a political and friendly alliance than a marriage, right?

Not between Sansa and Daenerys. But between Robb, Sansa’s brother, and Dany.

Daenerys had laughed when her father first proposed the idea over dinner two years ago. She actually laughed so loud she almost choked. When she sobered up, the amusement was replaced by immediate, hot anger. Her answer was final and curt – _no_. As a woman of this decade, there was no way in hell she would allow her father to decide who she would be marrying. Maybe she owes the world certain things as a part of a royal lineage, maybe she does have particular responsibilities that she has no choice but to uphold to but marriage is a big no. She is her own person and her marital life, if there shall be one, will be decided by her and her alone.

Aerys had then promised to let it go and not force her hand into anything (but heavily insinuated that the offer would still be up anytime if she ever changes her mind about Robb in the future).

However, ever since that awkward proposition had happened, Sansa has used it in every occasion to pester Daenerys – always making comments about how they will be sisters-in-law or how Robb is still waiting for her to hit him up.

“Shut up,” Dany responds to her current comment about Robb and rolls her eyes at her friend, “and I didn’t mean it like that.”

“So no boy problems then?” Margaery Tyrell wonders, flicking through pages in a fashion magazine and not bothering to look up at Daenerys.

Margaery and Sansa have been together for a little more than two years now. At first, Sansa told Daenerys that Margaery was a good friend from law school. One day Daenerys found Sansa and her good friend from law school on a couch, tongues shoved down each other’s throats. Daenerys felt like a horrible friend for not having noticed before. Sansa never even glanced in men’s directions. Sansa still has not admitted the truth to anyone but Robb and Dany, too afraid of her father’s reaction. _Soon_, Sansa always says, _soon I’ll tell him_.

Slowly, Margaery became an equally good friend to Daenerys as Sansa is. Margaery comes from a modest family, her parents moved from a farming business to now owning a few flower shops around the city.

With Sansa and Daenerys both being born in high-class families, Margaery took some time to properly integrate with them. Even her relationship with Sansa was rocky in the start and Daenerys had to play cupid between them numerous times. Dany and Sansa had to discover how to make some compromises and Margaery had to understand that she was friends with two important people and that itself would be a big deal in her life from then. Eventually, the girls became inseparable, while Sansa and Margaery’s relationship strengthened to the point of almost indestructibility.

“No boy troubles,” Daenerys answers, “but there’s this guy—”

“Oh, so there _is_ a guy,” Sansa cuts in.

“Will you two listen to me first?” Daenerys exclaims in frustration.

The two girlfriends exchange funny looks.

Daenerys shakes her head. “My father has this sort of…,” she trails off, not knowing exactly how to describe Jon’s relationship with Aerys, “friend,” she completes unsurely, “and let’s just say they’re pretty close. And now he wants that guy to be my bodyguard.”

“You’re angry that your father is hiring…security? After your crazy cousin tried to kill you with a pie?” Margaery asks slowly, blinking. “Am I not getting the problem here or is there no problem here?”

Sansa nods approvingly.

“He’s young,” Daenerys continues, frowning. “Around my age.”

“Still don’t see the problem,” Margaery pipes in.

“He’s not a bodyguard,” Daenerys says, “my father’s just hiring him because he apparently trusts him with his life. Do you guys even understand what’s going on here? He wants that dude to follow me around all the time…without even bothering to listen to my opinion on the matter.”

“That’s understandable,” Sansa finally comments, sending Margaery a look, “you’ve no idea how hard it is to be watched the whole day. I go through the same thing after elections when people try to extract information about my father from me. I always need to have bodyguards around and it’s pretty insufferable.”

“Rich people problems I’ll thankfully never relate to,” Margaery announces playfully, “but Dany, if I put myself in Aerys’ shoes…I understand his motives.”

“That’s true. I understand you both,” Sansa says as a truce. “But…your problem with this guy….”

“Jon.”

“Jon,” Sansa corrects, “seems more personal than anything.”

Daenerys is taken aback by her friend’s quick observation. Even Margaery has _that_ look in her eyes, the one that says she knows Dany is not telling the full truth. Daenerys takes a beat to reply. “It’s not really personal but Jon and my father have known each other for a long while. And they’re really close,” Daenerys mutters.

“And?” Margaery curiously demands.

Daenerys looks away from their prying eyes.

Margaery makes a deep sound of realisation and begins to laugh. Sansa scolds her. Daenerys scowls at them. “Forget I even asked anything,” Dany snaps, turning to leave Sansa’s room.

“No, no!” Margaery shouts, sobering up from her quick laugh. “I’m kidding. It’s fine. We’re all jealous of some people and I understand that—”

“I’m not jealous of that guy,” Daenerys heatedly responds, lying through her teeth, “that’s stupid. I just don’t need a random man to be following me around, ‘protecting’ me. I can do that on my own. I’m a princess, not a baby who can’t protect herself. I wish my father would understand.”

“Did you try talking to him about it?” Sansa asks.

Dany sighs. “He won’t listen.”

“What about Jon?” Margaery inquires, more seriously now, intent on helping her friend. “Surely he isn’t too fascinated about the idea either?”

“He wasn’t at first,” Daenerys says, “then my father told him something and he had this total shift in opinion. He started already.” Daenerys’ voice drops to a lower tone, “he even drove me here despite my protests, he’s outside as we speak.”

“What are we waiting for, then?” Sansa asks, wiggling her brows at Margaery, “shall we?” Margaery’s lips turn into a devilish smirk as she nods at her girlfriend.

“What? No!” Daenerys protests, moving to block the door with her arms wide open. “You guys are not meeting him.”

“Why not?” Margaery asks absent-mindedly, pulling her golden hair up in a ponytail, “we need to understand the enemy before defeating him.”

“I agree,” Sansa says, nodding, “it’s important for us to see him.”

Daenerys reluctantly puts her hands down. “I swear, you two better help me out of this.”

“Don’t worry, after we’re done with him Jon will not want this job anymore. Hell, we’ll make him retire if that’s what you want,” Margaery tells Daenerys, winking at her.

Dany relaxes the slightest, grateful for Margaery’s sense of humour. “How are we going to do that?” she asks, shaking her head, “you guys don’t know Jon. He loves my father too much to give up on this job.”

“Oh please. He’s still a boy,” Margaery scoffs, “and as gay as I am, I know how impatient boys can be. You just have to hit the right nerves and he’ll be running away.”

“Don’t you worry, Dany,” Sansa says promisingly, putting both of her hands on Daenerys’ shoulders and giving them a quick and reassuring squeeze, “he won’t be a problem for much longer.”

***

When he received the phone call from Aerys this morning, Jon Snow did not expect his day to be ending with him driving a limousine and waiting patiently outside of Daenerys Targaryen’s friend’s house.

But then again, he also did not expect Aerys to be terminally ill.

That knowledge haunted him the whole day. He didn’t externalise much of his sadness back in the castle but it is there, deep within his heart, implanted as a knife. Aerys could die. Any moment now. The man who has changed his life, who has changed the lives of thousands of people could pass away. And there is nothing Jon can do about it – no muscle in his body can be put to use to fight cancer. How unfair is that?

All Jon can do now and for the rest of his days is fulfil Aerys’ last wish the best he can.

Keep Daenerys safe.

He will do it at all costs, no matter what happens and no matter what his personal thoughts on the princess are. This is more than just a job to him now and he plans on pouring everything he has into doing it to the best of his abilities. Even now, doing something as simple as being her chauffeur, he keeps a careful eye out. He’s given Aerys his word and Jon never goes back on his word.

However, it was still a big shift in his life. Considering he already started this job without the littlest knowledge about it, Jon feels uneasy. Not only that but he will also have to find a way to juggle his career and this new duty.

And as a little part of his brain has constantly reminded him from the moment Aerys talked to him – he will have to deal with Daenerys.

Jon knows damned well that were he any other sane man in this universe, he would have been exultant about the idea of being the princess’ bodyguard. Who would complain about this job, honestly?

Getting to be in the presence of the future Queen of Westeros - all the time?

But it’s an entirely different story when you actually _know_ what kind of person Daenerys is. Jon does not have anything against her personally – if anything, it is her who seems to have harboured an inexplicable dislike for him.

When he told her he took the job earlier, she was angry. And that was understandable. But still, it’s not like it was Jon’s fault! He never asked for any of this. But miss Targaryen took it upon herself to make it very clear that he was unwanted. While Aerys spoke with Jon about the formalities of being a royal bodyguard and had him sign legal papers, Daenerys watched them attentively, her eyes so sharp it might as well have penetrated a hole through his skull.

Aerys asked that he should accompany Daenerys to visit her friend – and use that as an opportunity to talk to each other, about their new involvement with one another. It was a good idea, Jon had believed, to break the ice and start a stable professional relationship.

She is a princess, after all, it’s only normal for her to put her annoyance aside and act civil…right?

_No_.

Daenerys ignored him.

Blatantly. Completely.

At first, he thought they were both still a bit on edge about it. He didn’t want this. She didn’t want this. _It's fine_, he thought as the silence stretched on, _we'll get used to this soon enough_. 

He decided to start the conversation in the limo, clearing his throat and asking, “so…I heard you’re done with uni?”

She nodded. Once. “Yes.”

And then she put on her earphones. Nobody could mistake what that meant, an obvious sign of ‘please-don’t-speak-to-me-again’. So Jon did not. He calmed himself down and focused on the road. On his job. _It’s okay_, he mentally chanted, _you’re doing this for Aerys_.

But as honourable as Jon might be and as much as he respects the King, he is still human. And waiting two full hours in a hot vehicle, his only view being the traffic, is quite unnerving. For anyone, really.

Jon is a patient man. In any type of fighting, patience is the key factor. Only fools think fighting only means who can throw the hardest punch. Real fighters know it’s all a matter of calculation, of precision. And for that, waiting is requisite. Wait for a moment of weakness, wait for the correct opportunity, wait for a wrong step…Jon has mastered all forms of patience.

And today, he is putting all those years of learning to practice – essentially sweating his life away in the tight space of the princess’s limousine. Waiting for her.

Realistically, how long can someone stay at their friend’s house? An hour? _Two_? And if she plans on staying here, then maybe she should have informed him first. But no, Daenerys is too proud for that. Perhaps she is intentionally doing this, intent on torturing him for accepting the position. 

She did not utter a single word in his direction for the rest of the whole ride, did not even mention where her friend resides. She simply reached out and typed it on the GPS screen – with her damned earphones still plugged in.

Jon takes his phone out, needing a distraction so as not to focus on the heat which is getting more and more suffocating.

Instead of social media apps, Jon finds his thumb hovering above Ygritte’s name – the girl with whom he had to cancel his first date to meet Aerys.

He decides to send her a text.

_Hi. Sorry again for cancelling, something very important came up._

Ygritte answers within a few minutes.

_Hey, Jon. It’s fine. Maybe we could reschedule?_

She still wants to go on that first date. He smiles to himself, before typing a quick answer back — he decides on Saturday and Ygritte approves. Jon knows he is not looking for anything serious right now but he has been single for quite a while and does not see why he would not try something new. It also helps that Ygritte is pretty and seems sweet. For now, he’ll just consider it a fun date without much significance, he doesn't want to wonder if it'll work or not. 

Jon looks outside at cars passing by and sighs. He wants to go home already. Just as he thinks so, Daenerys finally emerges from that house. He has noticed that she wears sunglasses in public and always has her hair up in a bun which is then covered with a hat. Probably to avoid being seen since her silver hair is recognisable everywhere. Jon straightens himself as she walks to the limousine, her steps sharp and fast. He frowns at the two ladies following her.

She opens the front door and the two girls get in the back.

Jon looks back at them and then to her, “uh? Your father did not mention we’d have company.”

“That’s because we’re not going home,” explains Daenerys. “These are my best friends, Sansa and Margaery.”

Jon smiles at them politely although forcefully. “Your father said I should drive you back home,” Jon reminds Daenerys plainly.

“I always go shopping with Sansa and Margaery before going home. Everyday.”

Jon does a double-take. _Who goes shopping everyday_? He shakes his head. “Well, Dae—ma’am, your father made it clear that I should--"

“My father this, my father that,” Daenerys cuts him off with a sigh and a roll of her eyes, “you do realise I’m not twelve?”

Jon bites back his words. _You sure act like it._ “Of course,” he replies tranquilly.

Her smile is cold. “Good,” Daenerys retaliates, “my old bodyguard used to gladly drive me wherever I wanted to go. Without a single question. He also remembered my schedule by heart.” She tilts her head to the side and Jon sees the absolute evil glint in her eyes. “I’m afraid these are the required tasks. If you’d like to keep this job, Jon, you’re going to have to get used to this.”

Before Jon can reply, one of Daenerys’ friends — Sansa or Margaery, Jon cannot distinguish since he has not had a proper introduction and both of them have the same hair colour — gives a quick nod.

“Exactly,” the girl says, “sadly this job is a bit more complicated than your usual bodyguard job, after all, she is a princess and well, let's just say it might get tedious.”

“Very tedious,” the other girl enchains, smiling. “And for such a young man…I would really not recommend this job. And no offence to you, Dany, but you tend to be a bit extreme with your everyday tendencies. Going from cities to cities, shopping for hours…gosh, how are you going to deal with all that, sir?” The _sir_ is mocking, Jon notes.

He understands what is going on pretty quickly.

Oh, it’s not hard to piece two and two together. From Daenerys’ friends’ insistent tones as if they 'care' about Jon’s wellbeing to Daenerys herself looking mischievous, Jon catches up on their little game. Daenerys’ friends are helping her trying to scare him off.

They really think, these three petty girls, that they would frighten him to the point of resigning. Jon finds it funny. They obviously don’t understand why he is doing this, they don't know that this goes beyond a job and is now something Jon is sworn to. He doesn't know what sort of weak-willed men she's dealt with before but if she thinks she is going to scare him with big words and scary eyes, Jon will have to let her know how wrong she is. 

Jon smiles at them evenly. “It’ll be my pleasure,” he says slowly, making sure they understand that they will not win this game, “to be in the presence of the princess and assist her in _every_ way I can.”

The flicker in Daenerys’ smirk is gratifying enough. Her eyes harden but she tries to hide her disappointment with a curt nod. “Very well.”

Jon starts the engine and takes a confident look at the women before fixing his gaze on Daenerys, “so, _ma’am_, where is it you’d like me to take you?”

***

Missandei has worked for Daenerys for over five years now. The young woman started as a fashion blogger to ultimately give up on that job when she was hired by Daenerys to become the princess’s personal designer. Missandei had cried when Dany offered her the job – in complete disbelief that Daenerys Targaryen wanted her to work for her.

Aerys had frowned upon the idea, insisting that Daenerys should have royal couturiers instead of a random woman Daenerys had stumbled upon on the Internet. Dany dismissed him. She’s always felt more comfortable with Missandei than the stylists at the castle.

Due to the fact that she isn't allowed to wander around public shopping malls (and even if she'd love to disobey her father about this, it's not like she can really focus on shopping if people are going to stop, stare or ask for pictures), Missandei became Daenerys’ only stop for fashion. And taking occasional trips to Missi’s shop is one of her favourite activities.

Except today.

Jon Snow gets out of the vehicle with them.

Daenerys stops him. “Um, where are you going?”

Jon looks confused. “With you.”

“This is my stop,” she says.

“I’m sorry but you misunderstand my place. I’m not your driver, I am your bodyguard,” Jon says, his voice neutral but his upper lip gives away his indignation, barely visibly twitching up.

Daenerys hears someone snort behind her but she keeps her eyes on his intimidatingly, knowing her two companions are having a blast out of this.

She tries to think of a quick and smart comeback but under his unwavering molten gaze, she finds nothing. Nothing but annoyance, that is. “Fine,” she concludes, “but I hope you realise your job stops before I get in the dressing room.” She smiles. “I don’t give my bodyguards private shows.”

The meaning behind her words seems to finally settle in his mind and she sees the littlest jerk in his posture – but it’s gone too quickly. He nods tersely and averts his gaze, the tips of his ears reddening the slightest, “of course, ma’am.”

Daenerys does not know why she feels like every time he uses the word ‘ma’am’, there is some sort of underlying insult or mockery behind it. She hates his stupid, husky accent coating that syllable as well. Gods, she hates _everything_ about this man. She offers a curt nod before turning back to her friends. Margaery is chuckling. They walk fast to put enough distance between Jon and the rest of them and Margaery finally lets out her thoughts, “okay, he might be a tad bit harder to deal with than what I initially thought.”

Sansa nods frantically. “Yes. He seems so professional. And he’s wearing a tie. Sorry, Dany, this one will be hard to scare off.”

Daenerys sighs. If her best friends think this is a lost cause, then she might as well believe so.

“But we’ve dealt with worse,” Margaery encouragingly says, “remember Andrew?”

Dany grimaces. Andrew was one of her bodyguards during her time at university and annoyingly enough, he used to follow her around like a lost puppy. To make matters worse, he would constantly try to make Daenerys read some sort of religious book. He was _obsessed_ with religion. To the point that it made Dany feel she was being followed around by some god sent straight from the Seven Hells. It pissed her off to be invaded by such a nuisance. 

Instead of having to explain all of that to her father whom she was certain would not understand her and would only claim she was uselessly complaining, she instead used Margaery and Sansa to get him to give up on the job. The girls cornered the poor guy and told Andrew that they wanted a threesome with him – and Andrew, being a top-notch religious guy with morals fixed on no sex before marriage, ran like a wolf. He was so frightened by whatever Dany's friends had suggested that he never appeared at the castle again.

Daenerys laughs at the memory. “You’re right, Jon cannot be worse than that.”

“But I doubt asking for a threesome will work in this case,” Margaery jokes, “although…that doesn’t sound bad to me.”

Sansa chortles, shaking her head.

Dany makes a disgusted sound in the back of her throat.

“Oh come on,” Margaery laughs, nudging Dany in the ribs, “I’m gay but not blind, he's clearly hot.”

Daenerys doubles the volume of her revulsed sound, exaggerating slightly.

Only slightly.

Alright, _fine_. She admits – but only very deeply within herself where no one else can know – that Jon is not bad looking. At all. But that does nothing to remedy her current position so she banishes that fleeting admittance as quick as it came.

Missandei looks as beautiful as ever when she greets Dany with wide arms and then goes on to hug Margaery and Sansa. Not wanting to seem rude, Daenerys reluctantly introduces Jon to her. “Missi, this is my new bodyguard Jon. And Jon, this is my personal stylist…Missandei.”

“Nice to meet you,” Missandei says, extending her arm to him.

Jon smiles and takes her hand. “Same.”

Missi turns her attention back to the princess. “Look at you,” she gushes, examining Daenerys from head to toe. “You look beautiful. Ah, I love the braids.”

“Thanks, they’re so cool, right?” Daenerys asks, touching her hair lightly.

“Pretty sure everything suits you,” Missi says with a wink. “So, what new events?”

“Two dinners this week,” Daenerys explains, going over the events in her head, “one’s very formal with Sansa’s parents and the other with some minister whose name I still have to learn. But there will be cameras in both, so.”

“I know exactly what you need for both,” Missandei says thoughtfully and looks over at Margaery and Sansa, “and you two, as well. Any dates? So I know what I’ll have to work with?”

“No dates for me,” Daenerys answers.

Missandei looks at the two other girls.

Daenerys looks at them too, not mistaking the fade in Sansa’s smile. Keeping their relationship a secret is hard enough but Dany knows it’s even more difficult in formal events they attend together.

Sansa always drags Margaery along with her – but Margaery detests those events, having to sit there and watch Sansa’s father forcing her to talk to other men, searching for possible husbands. Margaery tries her best to keep her head high, Dany knows, she tries to act unaffected when Ned Stark asks for her opinion on a man for Sansa. “You’re her best friend,” Ned once told her, “so you know what her tastes are.” Margaery had later scoffed and let out her frustration with Sansa, “of course I know what your tastes are. Hell, I even what _you_ taste like.”

“No dates,” Sansa answers quietly.

Margaery steps back. “Oh, I’m just here to tag along by the way. I’m not buying anything.”

“Oh, you can!” Missandei insists, “I’ll find something for you too.”

Margaery shakes her head insistently, “no, no. It’s fine. I probably can’t afford that anyway. You two go, I’ll wait here.”

“You sure?” Sansa asks with a little smile.

“Of course,” Margaery answers, winking. “I’ll be waiting here patiently to see you in those pretty dresses.”

Daenerys hides her smirk. Their relationship comes off as playful enough if nobody pays attention but Dany knows the two of them too much to not understand the suggestive undertone behind Margaery’s words.

“Let’s go, then,” Missi says.

Dany steals one last look at Jon Snow before following Missandei. He is just standing there, looking like he’d rather be dead than here. She smirks. _Good_.

***

Jon finds himself waiting for the princess the second time this day.

He can’t bring himself to fully realise this is how most of his time is going to go from now on. Waiting for her. Following her. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes every time she opens her mouth. He sits on a chair in the waiting room – or whatever the hell this place is – of the shop. And sighs loudly. Gods help him, he is not going to make it through this alive and sane.

“Hey. I’m Margaery.”

Jon looks up to find one of Dany’s friends looking down at him. He finally has a name to put on this one. She seems to be the wittier one. Her eyes are strikingly blue. He nods and weakly smiles, “Jon.”

She chuckles. “I know.” Margaery comes to sit next to Jon.

“Is this going to take a while?” Jon asks.

Margaery snorts. “Oh, you’ve obviously not done this before. Shopping with a girl, bad enough. Shopping with a princess and her best friend? May the lord of the light bless us.”

Jon decides that he might like Margaery’s sense of humour – but he may be biased. After spending a day with Daenerys Targaryen, honestly, any other human company sounds like heaven. “Sansa is Ned Stark’s daughter, right?” Jon demands conversationally. He does not know much about politics but it’s quite impossible to not know Sansa, he's seen her plenty of times on TV.

“Yep.”

“And you? What are you, the daughter of a president of some kind? A millionaire?”

Margaery grins. “My dad’s not a politician. He’s a florist.”

Jon blinks, thrown by the answer. “Oh? Uh, that’s nice.”

She raises an eyebrow, “why, you think that Daenerys wouldn’t want to be friends with someone like me?”

“I…no,” he stammers, “she just seems very reserved.” If Jon could have been totally honest, he would’ve used a stronger word than reserved. But he mustn’t forget that Margaery is still Daenerys’ friend.

“I would say the opposite. She seems intimidating if you don’t know her but she’s an angel,” Margaery says.

Jon looks at her for any sign that she is being sarcastic but the girl looks serious. He looks away. _Angel_… a fallen one from the seven hells, maybe.

“So, what do you think of her?” Margaery asks.

Jon swallows. “Who?”

Margaery huffs, “I think you know of whom I speak.”

Jon licks his lips, “well from what I’ve heard…I think she has a good heart.” He flinches inwardly at how awkwardly that came out. Borderline untruthful.

“A good heart?” Margaery exclaims and throws her head back in laughter. “That is a first! Usually, men stare _at_ her good heart, I’ll tell you that.”

Jon feels embarrassed but says nothing further.

After a while, Margaery sighs. “Look, she doesn’t want you to be her bodyguard. You don’t seem to want that either. Why don’t you make this simple for both of you?”

“This is anything but simple,” Jon allows himself to say.

Would he have actually explained the situation a bit further to Margaery, he'll never know as Daenerys and Sansa exit the dressing room, interrupting them, two bags in each of their hands. After bidding goodbye to Missandei, they all walk out together. Jon stays close to Daenerys, keeping an eye out on the streets. He can never be too sure.

However, after Sansa and Margaery get in the back of the black vehicle, Dany abruptly turns to Jon. He halts, facing her. “Is there a problem?” he questions.

“Yes,” she answers, “this whole thing is a problem.”

Jon begins to shake his head. “Let’s not speak about this agai—”

“Just resign,” she deadpans, “do it. Tell my dad that you don’t feel comfortable, you obviously don’t.”

“Because you’re making this hard,” Jon snaps before he can stop himself or filter his words in some way. It had to come out eventually. He just figured he would have been able to hold that in a bit longer. But no, any sane man's patience would run thin after spending a day with princess Daenerys.

Daenerys’ eyes widen in discomposure. “Excuse me? You do not have the right to address me like that.”

“I am sorry,” he says unmeaningfully, “but your father chose me for this. He could have had any man in the world but he made sure to call me first. The least you could do is take that anger out on him, not me. I am doing this for him. Not for you. And I’m sorry to remind you that he did not care the slightest about your opinion before giving me this job. So if anyone has to ask me to resign, it’ll be him. But we both know that is not happening anytime soon.” Jon takes in a deep breath. Well, he’s already said so much so he might as well dig deeper. “Either you try to act civil and make this job easier for both of us or keep being the way you are. It doesn’t change anything for me.”

Daenerys’ cheeks have turned red. Blazing red. And her eyes might have as well been liquid fire, the hint of purple in them filling with rage. “You have some nerve,” she seethes and takes a step toward him. He doesn’t move, lowering his head to hold her gaze. “Let me remind you that I am Daenerys Targaryen, the hei—”

“You can give me a history lesson later,” Jon hisses, “because if you keep that act up, people will notice you.” He looks behind her shoulder, where one man is peculiarly staring at them, “I think they already are. We need to leave.”

She curses under her breath and juts her chin out, “this is still not over.”

Jon sighs. “Trust me, I know.”

* * *

  
Money.

She should have known. Daenerys has had this moment of realisation in her room and asked herself, _how could you not have known earlier?_ The reason Jon is still so persistent about keeping this job has to be financial.

“I just know it,” she says, “how could I have missed it?”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Sansa mumbles, “Look.” She turns her laptop screen to Daenerys, showing her a website. “I’m checking his stats and Jon Snow is one of the best fighters this place has known. Last time he lost a match was a year ago.”

Daenerys does not want to give up on her theory this quickly. “Well, he’ll still earn more here than any of his fights.”

“He does not seem like that type of guy,” Sansa comments, sending Dany an apologetic look for disagreeing with her.

Daenerys says nothing. Jon Snow does not seem like a lot of things. He’s always been an observant man of very few words but every time Daenerys thinks of him as a rather quiet guy, her mind brings her back to that day a week ago. When he spoke to her so harshly that she just stood there, shocked and caught off guard. Nobody in her whole life has ever disrespected her the way Jon had. He didn’t even try to hide it, he went straight in and spat at her like she was some random girl on the streets.

Daenerys never had to deal with someone so insolent. She cannot put her finger on the adoration her father has harboured for this man, all she feels for him is fury. Jon Snow does not belong in her world and her life – and she plans on getting him out of it. Daenerys always gets what she wants.

“I think he’s loyal to your father because of what you told me,” Sansa continues, “your father helped him become who he is. Imagine going from an orphan to having all your dreams come true with the help of a King. That kind of thing happens once in a lifetime, if not, then it simply doesn’t. It’s only normal for Jon to want to do his best for Aerys in return.”

Dany bites her lip. “I’m still convinced there’s more to the story,” she says, in part not wanting to believe that Jon’s intentions are as pure as what they seem.

He is _too_ perfect.

Daenerys has heard enough praise about Jon Snow. Her father has filled her ears about tales of how much of a nice and humble man Jon is, how he was able to find a confidant and a friend in this unexpected person.

And a cruel part of her heart wishes she could get her hands on some dirt on this infamous Jon Snow. Oh, how that would make her happy. Just something impure about this seemingly straight-from-heaven man. Something that will finally shut Aerys up.

Daenerys walks into her closet, picking a dress for the dinner tonight with her father. Saturdays are their thing, a tradition that has long lived in this household – dinner with the family. Sadly, that means only the two of them since the only other living relative they have is trying to kill them both. “What more can you tell me about him?” Dany asks distractedly, looking for something comfortable and cool to wear. It’s so hot here.

“He loves historical plays and musicals.”

Daenerys snorts. “I meant something that will help me get rid of him.”

“Can’t find any of that. Jon seems like a pretty nice guy, he's an open book,” Sansa mutters and yawns, “anyway, I should get going. I have a date with Margaery and you know how she gets when I’m late.”

“What occasion?” Daenerys wonders. These two rarely go on actual dates since they already spend most of their time together.

“An apology,” Sansa answers, “for the upcoming parties. You know what will come after them… when my father will be talking about boyfriends and try to force me to interact with some weird rich dude who probably cares more about his hair than he does about the actual conversation.”

Daenerys laughs. “I feel you,” she says with a sigh. The numerous men who have tried to approach Daenerys in political events and after-parties were all bizarre in their own way. Some full of themselves, some obsessed with her. Some making it obvious that they were only speaking with her in hopes of marriage to the King's daughter, which is even more vexing than them being arrogant.

“Stop lying,” Sansa huffs, “the only man your father wants to see you with is Robb. He’s not _that_ bad.”

Daenerys makes a face. “You’re saying that ‘cause he’s your brother.”

Sansa raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? You think Robb’s half as bad as those assholes?”

Daenerys takes an instant to think about it. Robb Stark is, if she is honest, the closest thing to a fairy tale prince that Daenerys has known. Kind, charming and smart. He’s always managed to make Daenerys feel at ease, unlike most of the rich men she's talked to. She finally shakes her head. “Fine, Robb’s not that bad.”

Sansa looks pleased. “Do you want to know what he thinks of you?” she teases.

Daenerys flicks through sundresses, rolling her eyes at her friend. “Are you trying to set me up with your brother? Our fathers are working hard enough on the case, you don’t have to join in.”

“I’m not, I swear. But Robb genuinely talks about you with me.”

Dany pauses for a fraction of a second before resuming her search.

“You don’t wanna know?” Sansa presses, her voice light and playful.

Daenerys turns to glare at her before getting back to her closet. “Fine,” she gives in, “tell me.”

“He told me you’re the most beautiful girl he ever saw,” Sansa tells her.

Daenerys cannot help the laugh. That sounds like something Robb would say. A sweet talker, he’s always been. “Well, thank him for that.”

“You can do that yourself. Next time you two go to a secret dinner together again.”

Robb had taken Daenerys out for dinner this one time. Only once, a long time ago. It was an entirely platonic evening. She had a great time in his company. But the next morning, pictures of them were all over the news – Westerosi Princess Daenerys Targaryen and Ned Stark’s son are a new thing? It was frustrating and so untrue. What was a night filled with good moments and casual jokes had been turned into a big fiasco in the news, apparently proving that the two of them looked ‘happily in love and super into each other’.

Sansa went crazy over the news. Even now, she still brings it up to provoke the silver-haired princess.

Dany does not let herself fall back in her game, waving Sansa off. “Not happening,” she reminds Sansa.

“I don’t see why not,” Sansa remarks, “I feel like it’s inevitable. You two like each other. People love you together. Ned and Aerys do. And as weird as that is, I kinda do too.”

“I don’t like him like that,” Daenerys declares. “We’re friends. That’s all.”

Sansa sighs. “You should tell him that. He’s not had a girlfriend in over two years, ever since the marriage proposal was on the table.”

Daenerys takes out two dresses, one red and one blue, and frowns when she registers Sansa’s words. “A marriage proposal I refused,” she reminds her friend, “tell your brother he is free to date whoever he wants.”

“What if he wants you?”

Dany shuts her mouth. Shaking her head, she steps out of the closet and shows Sansa her two favourites.

The golden-haired girl tilts her head to the side before pointing a perfectly manicured finger to the blue dress. Daenerys nods, putting the red one back in its place. “You didn’t answer me,” Sansa singsongs.

“It’s not my problem,” Dany dismisses. “He’s never told me about…his feelings.”

“You know it. He barely keeps his eyes off of you,” Sansa states.

Daenerys comes back to Sansa and exhales tiredly. “Listen, if something has to happen between us then they will. It’ll be natural. I told you…everything in my life is controlled. Hell, now I even have an extra bodyguard I never asked for because of who I am. My boyfriend is one of the only things I get to choose.” Daenerys grimaces, “and Robb…as sweet as he is, he’ll always remind me of this forced lifestyle I keep trying to escape. Maybe that’s why it’s never going to work between us because it will yet again feel like something my father has decided instead of me.”

Sansa quits her teasing after that, giving her friend a comprehensive smile. “I’m only kidding,” Sansa says softly, “and it’s not like you need a man to be happy.”

Daenerys grins. “That’s the attitude I was looking for. Now, woosh, go to your girlfriend before she kills you.”

***

Varys is heading out of Aerys' office when Daenerys attacks him. He clicks the door shut and jumps at the sight of the princess standing before him, arms crossed over her chest, a grin on her face. 

"You've got to stop scaring me as such," the bald man reproaches, rolling his eyes. 

Dany glances at the documents in his hands. "Are you busy?"

"Quite a bit, actually."

"Oh." She puts on her most dejected face, lowering her shoulders in defeat, pushing her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout and giving him a sad look. 

The trick works easily enough, as it has ever since she was a kid. People around here usually can't resist her. She uses that to her advantage, obviously. Varys sighs. "But I'm never too busy for you, princess," he states. 

Daenerys' lips quirk. "That's sweet. So, I need you to do something for me."

"Go on."

"But," Daenerys takes a step forward and Varys narrows his eyes in suspicion at the secretive tone she applies when she says, "My father mustn't hear a word about this."

"You do know that's considered some form of treason, right?" Varys asks, although his tone is joking, his laughter is filled with nervousness. He always knows when she is up to no good. 

"Varys, please." Cue the pout again. 

He heaves another long, exhausted breath. "Go ahead."

"I need you to find some things about this...Jon Snow for me."

"Like?"

"I don't know. Stuff only _you _can find. Not public knowledge."

Varys takes a beat. "You mean bad things?"

Daenerys gasps. "I never said that." But of course she meant that. Varys is one of Aerys' most trusted advisors because of his ability to dig into every dark, forbidden places to find useful information. 

He raises a brow and she shrugs innocently. "Find whatever you can," she adds vaguely.

He studies her. Understands her. "You really don't like the King's protégé, do you?"

Daenerys chuckles humourlessly. "You've figured that out in one conversation while my father still hasn't gotten the hint in years."

Varys laughs back, shaking his head. "I'll see what I can do to help you, princess," he answers with a parting bow.

***

There is one thing that Jon has hidden from the King.

He actually told someone about his bond with Aerys Targaryen. Only one person. Gendry – his long-time best friend, partner in crime but sworn enemy on the ring. Jon has always been honest to Gendry and the latter has never betrayed his trust, so it was only natural for him to tell Gendry about Aerys. If he didn't, it would have probably spilled from his lips during one of their drunken conversations anyway. Jon knew he could have faith in Gendry, so he told his best friend all about how he met and befriended the King of Westeros. At first, Gendry thought Jon was on drugs. It took countless nights (and for Jon to show him pictures he had taken with Aerys) for Gendry to finally believe Jon. He was flabbergasted by the discovery, to put it mildly.

And after having worked for Daenerys Targaryen for a whole week – seven fucking days in her majesty's presence – it’s only normal for Jon to call Gendry up, invite him over for a beer to let it all out. All the pent-up frustrations and unsaid curses he'd wanted to utter throughout the entire week.

“Everyday,” Jon repeats, “she goes to that goddamned stylist or whatever every fucking day.”

Gendry snorts, bringing the can to his mouth. “Nah, you have to be exaggerating. She can’t be that bad.”

“I’m telling you, she is,” Jon aggravatedly explains, “she is everything you expect royalty to be – annoying and full of herself. I don’t really give a shit about her not speaking to me but sometimes it gets so frustrating. I’m supposed to be her bodyguard but she won’t let me stand next to her for too long, saying she doesn’t like her ‘personal space invaded’. For fuck's sake, Gendry, I want to slam my head into a wall whenever I’m near her.”

Gendry is laughing louder now, his friend's tortured voice seeming very amusing to him. “Oh boy. I’d love to witness that. I’ve seen her on TV.” He smirks and raises the can of beer, along with his right eyebrow. “And she’s bloody gorgeous, you forgot to mention that.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “Yeah….”

“Oh come on. Just ‘yeah’?”

Jon inhales deeply. Daenerys is _the_ most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, but that, he’ll never say out loud. “Fine,” he accepts, thinking of her bright eyes and pale hair, “she’s gorgeous.”

“So what does the princess of Westeros do? Other than shopping, of course.”

“Wasting her money on other things,” Jon deadpans. “She has parties at the castle almost every night. With just rich kids. She’s friends with Sansa Stark, daughter of Ned Stark.”

Gendry gasps. “_The_ Ned Stark?”

Jon sighs. “Yes.”

“I’m not surprised, she is a princess after all….” Gendry shakes his head, “Hey, wasn’t she rumoured to be marrying Ned’s son?”

Jon makes a deep sound of amusement and astonishment, ogling Gendry. “Since when are you updated on what goes on in the royal world?”

Gendry leans back on the sofa, stretching his legs out on Jon’s table and shrugging. “Saw it on the news once,” he says, taking another sip of the liquor. “So, is she?”

“Getting married?” Jon asks and blinks. “Well good luck to whoever will be her husband.”

Gendry chuckles. “Pretty sure nobody needs luck with someone that hot. Seriously, though, I heard she was in a relationship with Stark’s son…what’s his name, again?”

“Robb,” Jon answers.

Gendry snaps his fingers. “That one! Have you met the husband yet?”

Jon grimaces. “No. Not that I know of, she doesn’t look like she is in a relationship.”

“As hard as it is, remind yourself that you still get to hang out with a princess. And get to visit the castle. Just have some fun out of it,” Gendry suggests as if it is no big deal.

Jon does not mention Aerys’ health since he doesn't believe this is crucial information for Gendry, especially given the fact that Aerys is intent on not letting anyone find out. This is not his story to tell. But he can’t bring himself to ‘visit the castle and have some fun out of it’ knowing that the man he looks up to is on the verge of passing away. He drinks his beer sadly, defeatedly. “You’re right,” he replies at last, “it's not a bad job in itself. She is the one who sucks. I just wish she’d make this easier. It doesn’t help how unfair it feels.”

“What feels unfair?”

“The life she gets to live just because of her family name.”

Gendry sighs in answer, nodding his head before leaning it against the armrest and groaning/ “Oh, let’s not go there. If we had to tabulate all the unfair things that people born in privileged, rich families have had handed to them because of their names then we won’t see the end of this.”

Jon nods. “I know. It’s just—” he shakes his head, “she seems so ungrateful for everything she has. Some people have to work a hundred times harder and don’t get half of the things Daenerys does. And yet she’s still angry at one little detail wrong in her life, me being her bodyguard. She behaves like a...spoiled princess.”

Gendry lazily says, “well she is a princess.”

“Guess you’re right.” Jon decides to stop whining about the matter, “anyway, I could have it worse. And at least the money’s good. And Aerys makes it worth it.”

“There you go, the good points,” Gendry retaliates dramatically. “And who knows? You’ve only known Daenerys for a week…and you’re simply not used to the way she lives. Maybe you’ll end up absolutely adoring her after a while.”

Jon Snow doubts that. He _highly_ doubts that.

***

When he gets to the castle the next morning, a bit sleepy and hungover, he is pleasantly greeted by Daenerys at the main gate.

_Pleasantly_.

With her foot impatiently tapping on the floor and her arms crossed over her chest, annoyance etched onto her features.

Jon does a mental prayer before greeting her formally.

“I need to go somewhere important,” she states without returning a smile or a 'good morning'.

Jon nods. His mind goes to shopping. Missandei’s shop or some fashion event she has been talking about nonstop on the phone. “Yes, ma’am,” he answers.

“Do you want to drive?” she asks, “or should I get my chauffeur?”

Jon shakes his head immediately. He’d rather drive and have something to focus on rather than sit in the sickening silence with no forms of distraction whatsoever. “I’ll drive,” he answers.

She does not talk more than what's necessary and Jon is not surprised. He lets her walk in front of him and rounds the vehicle to his seat. She’s already typing in the address and Jon frowns. This is not Missandei’s shop’s address. If Jon is not mistaken, this looks like the address of an…animal shelter?

He blinks at the screen and then up to Daenerys. “You sure you typed in the right place?”

Daenerys gives him a blank stare, “am I blind?” she retorts.

Jon clamps his mouth shut. He should not have asked. “I’m sorry,” he mutters and starts the engine, thanking the existing or non-existing gods for the shortness of the path.

Upon seeing the throng at the building, Jon starts panicking. “Why are there so many people here?” he wonders out loud.

“Because I come here a lot,” Dany explains and Jon watches as she takes out a scarf and wraps it around her head. “And they found out through some pictures.”

“Why?” Jon asks, confused.

Daenerys glares at him temporarily before putting on her sunglasses. “I doubt I have to explain where I go to you.”

Once again, Jon wishes he had logically kept silent. “Right,” he mumbles, “well, we’ll have to be careful.”

“Yeah, you don’t say, dear bodyguard,” Daenerys sarcastically replies before getting out.

Jon curses under his breath before he follows her. And it’s the first time that he gets a real taste of what it means to be a bodyguard. Jon should have taken some more people with him because the moment these people spot Daenerys, they all go crazy. Shouting, shrieking and other sounds he does not know how to describe – weeping from joy, he guesses? Her name is being yelled in all directions and Jon has to physically grab Daenerys’ shoulders and quickly run towards the door. That was not required since nobody dared make an actual move to touch the princess, probably knowing the consequences, but still he feels the need to shelter her from this mess.

Once the door is slid shut behind them, Daenerys slides out of his grasp quickly. Jon is still shocked, staring at the mass of people outside in wonder. They're still yelling, all excited and in awe. 

“Scared already?” Daenerys jokes.

He glances at her. He almost thinks she’s made a joke, a light-hearted one. But her face is back to its stony expression when he looks at her so he can’t be so sure that she made a joke or if she asked a genuine question.

Jon closes his mouth, trying to calm his heartrate. “I just…I didn’t expect—”

“Daenerys!” A voice cuts Jon off.

Jon watches as a woman in her late thirties runs across the room to the princess. His first instinct is to move closer to the princess but Daenerys opens her arms and hugs the woman. Jon stays in place.

“Ashley! How’re you?” Daenerys asks.

“Good. We’ve been waiting for you.” She grins at her. “Ghost misses you too. Oh and Nymeria’s been adopted.”

“Really?” Daenerys shrieks, taking off her sunglasses and scarf, “oh, I’m so happy. I had a feeling that was the last time I’d see her.”

Ashley nods, red lips pulling up in a sad smile. “I know.”

“Who adopted her?” Daenerys asks, eyes wide.

“A young boy who fell in love with her the moment he saw her,” Ashley explains, “don’t worry, Dany, our baby’s in good hands.”

Jon falters a bit. _Dany_. He’s never heard anyone call her that before or maybe he has not paid attention and he finds it a lot simpler than Daenerys. Not that it’s any of his business since he won’t be using that anytime soon…. But he assumes Ashley and Daenerys are close, why else would she be calling a princess by a nickname?

“I’m glad.” Daenerys licks her lips, “did you get the cheque?”

“As always,” Ashley replies, nodding. “We’ll use it for the playground we were planning.”

“Good, I’d love to see the pups and Ghost there,” Daenerys answers with a childlike smile, “speaking of my boy, where is he?”

“He’s sleeping,” Ashley says and Daenerys follows the woman.

Jon tags along, a bit unsure of what else to do.

However, he stops at the entrance of a much larger room filled with dogs. All types, sizes and colours, Jon can’t keep count. Daenerys does not hesitate to barge in and upon seeing her, most of the dogs lose their calm attires, barking and jumping around wildly. A big white dog leaps on Daenerys, causing her to lose balance and tumble down on the floor, once again testing Jon’s instincts to guard her.

“Don’t worry,” says Ashley and Jon looks up to find that she is already looking at him, “this is Ghost. Daenerys’ best friend.”

Jon looks back at Daenerys who is now sprawled on the ground, her silver hair slipping out of her bun as ‘Ghost’ licks her face, Daenerys emitting loud giggles and shrieks as other dogs join in. He blinks at the scene, he's never seen the princess look so joyful. Usually, the only emotions he gets from her are either anger or irritation. Perhaps this is the first time he's seen her laugh, a sweet melodious sound that doesn't seem to belong to the woman who has been nothing but brusque to him. 

“You’re her bodyguard?” Ashley asks.

Jon nods. “Yes. If I may ask, how do you know her?”

“Oh, Daenerys has been coming here ever since she was a child,” Ashley answers, “she’s always loved dogs.”

“That’s nice.”

“See the big one on her, Ghost?” Ashley inquires and Jon nods, “well he was abandoned in a storm and was really sick,” Ashley explains, “it was Dany who brought him in here. Paid for his treatments too. Ah – sorry, I wasn’t supposed to disclose this…but I guess you’re trusted?”

Jon’s curiosity gets the best of him so he once again nods. “What do you mean you were not supposed to disclose this?”

“The princess doesn’t like us talking about what she does here. And she does a lot. She invests a lot of money in this place and hundreds of other shelters. She keeps it low, however, not really needing the public to praise her for it. She does it because she cares,” Ashley says, “which is rare, to say the least. She’s a lot more benevolent than what she lets on. I know only some of the things she does, like helping poor children get an education. I assume you already know about the numerous campaigns she did for rape victims. She’s amazing, right?” Ashley sighs happily. "Sometimes I feel like she'll be a good Queen, not because she's Aerys' daughter but because in a way, it feels like we chose her. Chose her kindness."

Jon is at a loss for words. His eyes find themselves automatically drawn to Daenerys. She is laughing, her eyes disappearing behind crinkles, her voice soft and cheeks pink. Ghost is nuzzling his head against her neck and Dany is caressing him, whispering nonsensical words to the other dogs when she isn't busy cooing at the white beast. She looks unbelievably young here, stripped of her stern attire, just a woman. Not a queen-to-be.

And most importantly, she let go of the persona she puts up around him. That of the strict princess being authoritative and sometimes arrogant, ordering him around like one of those dogs. Behind all of that lies just Daenerys. A woman who apparently helps people – who even helps animals. Jon’s throat tightens, he was not expecting this. Not to witness this with his own eyes and to _like_ what he sees. He thought he had her figured out: cold-hearted, distant, indifferent and ungrateful. He didn't want another layer added to this. 

As Ashley clears her throat, Jon realises that he has been staring at Daenerys for a bit too long to be appropriate now so he averts his gaze and nods at her question. “Yeah,” he says and finds himself almost..._meaning_ it, “she is.”

***

Daenerys is busy disentangling her hair in the ride back to the castle, a small smile displayed on her lips. She always winds up thoroughly messed up after seeing the dogs but she loves them so much she does not mind it one bit. Especially Ghost, her special boy. How she’d like to have him at home, but due to her always being busy it seems unfair to keep him. She knows he would still be taken care of by the workers but Dany strongly believes that a dog needs love and affection above all, not to be treated like a necessary task. And she knows a wonderful family will love her big fluffy friend as much as she does.

“You have…um, something on your hair.”

At first, she is too engulfed in the complicated task of trying to braid her hair to fully realise that Jon has spoken to her. When the realisation comes down on her, she looks at him with confusion. “Excuse me?” she demands.

Jon hesitantly brings his free hand from the steering wheel to his own forehead, gesturing, “there’s something here.”

Daenerys mimics his action and takes off a grain of dog food. She snorts to herself. “Ghost,” she mutters to herself with a slight shake of her head as she tosses it out. 

“It’s very nice of you,” she hears Jon say – almost reluctantly, “what you do for these dogs.”

She takes a moment. Her mood is _good_ and there is no reason for her to start an argument, she supposes. “Thanks,” she offers.

“Why don’t you adopt him?”

“What?”

“Ghost,” Jon elucidates, “the lady…Ashley said that you are very close.”

Daenerys does not understand why he is making small talk. Last time they spoke more than a few words to each other, he was telling her that she was making his job hard. Dany wants to rudely ask him to stop talking but she finds herself answering truthfully instead, “a castle’s no place for a dog. I love Ghost too much to give him a home where he won’t have the affection he deserves.”

Jon says nothing to that. Daenerys thinks the conversation is finally over so she takes her phone out.

But Jon speaks up again. “I always wanted a dog.”

A pause.

A long pause.

Daenerys contemplates his words. Frowns. “Okay?” she says unsurely.

“Would you be okay—”

“No,” she immediately responds, now understanding what he is alluding to, “Ghost is special to me.”_ At least stay away from one thing in my life_.

“I’m not trying to take your place,” Jon answers, “but I live alone. I will take care of him, I’ve wanted a pet for so long.”

Daenerys clenches her teeth. Childishly.

She hears him sigh. “Why are you even against this idea?” he asks slowly, “I love dogs. Aren’t you supposed to be happy to find him a home?”

"How do I know you're good with dogs?"

"I don't know. What are the qualifications?"

She scoffs. "The fact that you need to ask this tells me all I need to know," she sneers. 

"All I'm saying is I live alone in a big house. I could really use a companion." He pauses but she doesn't answer so he resumes, "Besides, if a stranger adopts him you won't ever see him again but on the other hand, if I do..." he trails off suggestively.

Daenerys looks away. _Damn him, he makes a good point_. She takes in a deep, calming breath. “You need to let me see him every weekend,” she mutters under her breath.

“Of course,” Jon says immediately.

“And I _insist_ you take good care of him. Learn everything there is to know about huskies. From their diets to their health.”

“Is that an order?”

Daenerys turns to glower at him, even if his tone has been light. “Yes,” she says firmly, “that is an order.”

Jon nods. “I swear.”

Daenerys looks away again. Ghost will have a home. But it will be with _Jon Snow_. The man she is desperately trying to push out of her life but also the only way for her to always keep Ghost in her life. She is not sure how to feel about that, a bittersweet and delicate situation, she's still not entirely sure she's made the right choice.

“Thanks,” Jon says after a stretched silence, his voice quiet, “I’ll do my best to keep him happy, you have my word.”

Daenerys nods curtly.

After a moment, as to remind him and herself that she still does not like him and that this has not altered with this conversation, that nothing has been fixed about their current state of affairs, Daenerys sharply looks at him and coldly tells him, “I still wish you’d resign already.”

When she fixes her gaze back on the road, Daenerys sees Jon Snow shake his head and slightly smile from the corner of her eyes and she mentally rebukes herself for almost wanting to match that expression for a fleeting moment. 


	3. Chapter 3

“It seems like we’ll never really go on that date, Jon Snow.”

Jon forces his eyes shut at Ygritte’s voice over the phone, guilt filling his insides almost instantly. Even his apology seems half-hearted now, given that he’s cancelled twice already. “I’m so sorry for last Saturday. I wasn’t expecting that the match would be that long.”

Ygritte laughs good-naturedly. “It’s fine. Are we re-re-scheduling?”

Jon cracks a tiny smile to himself, surprised that she hasn’t cursed him out and hung up already. “I guess we are. Seriously, this time. Is Sunday fine?”

“Sunday’s great. Make sure it’s fine for _you_.”

He sighs guiltily. “It is, I promise. See you on Sunday.” When he hangs up, Jon makes sure to add that as a reminder on his phone—to make sure that nothing will come up on that day so he can finally have a nice night out with a pretty girl to take his mind off of everything else going on in his life right now.

He’s spent the whole of last night cleaning up the guestroom in his house, turning it into Ghost’s new place. He had to look up several videos on the internet to figure out exactly what a dog needs. It’s not a big deal, really, but remembering Daenerys’ fierce eyes ordering him to take good care of her dog convinced him to do this properly. He went as far as shopping for toys and food with Gendry. Gendry, not a big fan of dogs, complained the whole time about why this would be a bad idea. He wasn’t making a good argument, he just kept whining about how dirty his place would be with dog fur. Jon did not listen. He really wants a pet.

Jon goes to take a last look at the room he’s put so much effort into personalising before heading to the castle. He thinks that it’s pretty great; what he’s been able to achieve as someone who has never had a dog.

Something is different today at the castle.

The usual Targaryen flags have all been pulled down, the men guarding the entrance are all dressed in black rather than their usual uniforms that Jon had learned by heart due to his frequent visits growing up. Jon looks down at his grey button-up and wonders if there is something he should have known, some new dress code, before coming here.

Sandor Clegane comes to greet Jon Snow at the door, his face in a large scowl. “What the _fuck_ are you wearing, boy?”

Jon is confused. “I don’t get it. Is there a dress code for today?”

Clegane takes in a long breath and exhales lengthily, Jon trying not to flinch away in disgust at his horrible liquor-stained breath. “Idiot,” he mutters without much explanation, drowning Jon in further confusion.

Jon has no clue how to take that weird meeting. He sighs, deciding to just go on with it. Not like things could get worse with Daenerys, she already hates him anyway.

With every breath he takes and every step he takes, passing by more and more people all wearing nothing but black, Jon grows more apprehensive. Gods, perhaps he should really find time to read the guidelines Aerys told him about. He knows pretty much nothing about their customs here and yet, here he is. A royal bodyguard. _A royal fool_.

Jon cringes to himself at all the weird stares he receives from numerous people around the castle. He hopes to see Tyrion on the way, hopefully the dwarf will be able to give him a better explanation. But instead a guard comes up and tells him that Aerys and his daughter are having breakfast in the garden – and that he’s requested Jon to join them the moment he gets there.

The King is dressed in black as well, Jon notes. Just next to him sits Daenerys Targaryen, a black gown loosely hugging her body. She is sipping on a cup of tea quietly, her eyes fixed on the mountains that can be seen from the garden due to its height. A soft breeze is caressing her hair, making the silver strands move from her face, giving Jon a nice view of her stoic, hard expression. The atmosphere seems oddly tense here, father and daughter drinking tea in a bizarre silence.

They both seem lost in their thoughts, watching birds and trees quietly. Jon takes in a deep, courageous breath before making himself visible to the two, advancing closer but with careful steps.

Daenerys sees him first, her sharp gaze landing on him disapprovingly, mouth thinning as her eyes trail a hot path up and down his form. “Ah,” she says, “look, father, your _favourite_. Who apparently has no respect whatsoever for this family.”

Jon freezes. Aerys slowly turns his head to look at him, not seeming too pleased either. “Jon,” he says, “son, come join us.”

Jon nods his head respectfully before taking a hesitant seat on the free chair, just next to Daenerys and parallel to Aerys. He hears the princess scoff slightly and wonders what he did this time to deserve such coldness.

After registering Daenerys’ words, Jon starts, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand why the black attire—”

Daenerys cuts him off, “are you serious?”

Aerys looks away with a sigh.

Jon shakes his head. “I….”

“My wife,” Aerys starts, “it’s my wife’s death anniversary today.”

Jon’s eyes grow big at his words, the realisation of his mistake knocking the breath out of his lungs. _Fuck_. Due to being overly tired after having set up Ghost’s room the previous night, Jon went directly to sleep without bothering to turn on the radio or television or even grab his phone to scroll down the internet. If he had, he would have known. They would have talked about it. He feels stupid and ashamed of himself for not having worn the accustomed black colour – a standard sign of respect for the occasion, a tradition long followed and maintained in the country throughout the years.

“I’m so sorry,” Jon blurts out, “I’ll go change—”

Daenerys pulls her chair backwards, getting ready to leave. “I don’t know what’s worse, if you forgot about Rhaella’s death and have the nerve to work in this castle as a royal bodyguard or if you knew and still chose to wear…_that_.”

“I did not know,” Jon automatically responds, “why would I have worn this if I had known?” His temper rises at the implication of her words – as if he would ever willingly choose to disrespect Aerys in such a way – but he keeps it tamed. He won’t cause a scene. He will not give her that satisfaction, not today. On a quieter note, he adds, to both Aerys and his insolent daughter, “And for that, I apologise. I should have known, there is no excuse. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Aerys says nonchalantly, not nearly as appalled as the silver-haired girl to his side, “I’ll give you something to wear.”

Jon begins shaking his head, feeling worse. “I could go back home and change.”

“No, that’s not important. We have more pressing matters. We’ll need you here today, which is why I wanted to speak to you.” Aerys places his cup of tea down on the table in front of him and sighs heavily, “every year, a commemorating ceremony is held at the castle. You must know about this tradition.”

Jon nods. He might not know much about the royal formalities yet but he has heard of this specific ceremony, has seen it aired on TV every year since the Queen’s death.

“And there will be mostly relatives, friends and colleagues,” Aerys pauses for effect and then, “and Viserys.”

Jon frowns, the mere mention of that name making him tense up. “What? Why?”

“Well, we still have not been able to prove that he did any of the things we know he did,” Aerys explains, “that would have helped but like you know, Viserys is good at hiding. Really good. And he’s still family.”

“So, every year he just comes here, pretend he is sad about your wife’s death and pretend that he does not want you dead too?” Jon asks incredulously, “isn’t that dangerous?”

“Of course. Our guards are well aware of his intentions and they do their best to keep an eye on him,” Aerys tells Jon, “and this is why he’s never been able to do anything in any of these ceremonies so far. But now that he’s tried to touch Daenerys, I can’t go light on the protection like I have every year. There will be forty more men in the surroundings but considering he will probably bring some of his men too, I’m still not reassured. The castle will be guarded absolutely everywhere.” Aerys looks thoughtful. “Viserys is anything but stupid. He is a good man in the eyes of the public and with cameras around to film the event, I doubt he will try anything funny. But still.”

Jon nods, comprehensive. “Better safe than sorry.”

Aerys lifts his head. “Exactly,” he replies, “that’s why I need you at Daenerys’ side. Every. Second.”

Jon does not bother to sneak a look at Daenerys’ expression. He can already paint a pretty accurate image in his mind—something between a scowl of anger and a frown of annoyance, he figures.

“I trust you,” Aerys slowly enunciates, “and only _you_ with her. Do you understand?” His eyes find Jon’s, trying to deliver the profoundness of his words.

Jon moves his head in agreement, saying, “I do.”

Aerys does not look relieved but compared to earlier, he looks relatively calmer. “Good.”

“What about you?” Jon asks, worried. “Will you be protected?”

Aerys cracks a smile. “I will, don’t worry. But Jon, remember, you’re not here to protect me. I don’t care what happens—you stay with Daenerys. Nobody else.”

Before Jon can muster an answer, Daenerys’ voice cuts through the air like a blade of ice, “if that is all…I’d like to be excused to prepare for the ceremony.”

Jon only briefly glances in her direction. To his surprise, Daenerys does not look utterly furious about her father’s idea – instead, she looks rather distant. Like she is here physically but not mentally. Her father nods to dismiss her and Daenerys spares a look for Jon and again, she doesn’t look angry. Her eyes are blank when she gazes at him, quickly, and looks away. She walks away with her head down.

“You must forgive her attitude,” Aerys says, “as you know, today is not really a good day.”

Jon looks at the King. “Of course. I understand.” He prefers Daenerys being quiet instead of opening her mouth only to throw insults at him.

“Well, I better also go get myself ready then.” Aerys gets up.

Jon stops him. They have not had a proper chat ever since their first conversation and Jon has not once stopped thinking about everything he said and about the uncertainty that the future holds about his sickness.

“What is it?” Aerys questions when Jon stands in front of him, effectively blocking his path.

“It’s just….,” Jon sighs, shaking his head. “When will you tell Daenerys? About your health?”

Aerys’ face turns sour. “I have no idea,” he answers, voice strained. “I just know she is not ready to hear it. Not yet. She won’t be able to deal with it and in addition to that, she will have to prepare to become Queen. I need to guide her to the fullest and for that, I need her to have faith. The moment she finds out, it will bring weakness. And we can’t afford that. Not with Viserys around.”

As much as Jon wants to understand his point, he finds himself not able to. He has not had parents and does not fully comprehend the relationship between a father and a daughter but at the very least, he knows that in any relationship honesty is the key. “You can’t lie forever,” Jon says reasonably, trying to put himself in his daughter’s shoes.

Even if he dislikes Daenerys, and that is too much of a kind word, he doesn’t doubt that she loves her father dearly. Jon has no clue how she’ll react when she finds out about Aerys’ sickness—and worse, what she’ll do when she learns that he’s known before her. It’s not fair to her.

Aerys looks away, considering what to say next. “I know,” he tersely answers and on the same note he goes on to add, “I’ve been to a check-up yesterday.”

“And?”

“It’s spreading less, apparently. Considerably less.”

A spark of hope ignites in Jon’s chest. “That’s great, right?”

Aerys offers a sad smile. “Spreading less does not mean I’m not dying anymore, they’ve not said anything about that. But yes, I do admit it was a relief. It’s a good sign.”

Jon allows himself to let that hope live next to his heart. To let it grow into something bigger. Life is full of possibilities, right?

And hoping never hurt anyone.

***

Daenerys checks her door three times. She verifies the lock, unlocks it and relocks it for more assurance. Only when she is absolutely sure that she is alone does she allow herself to cry.

_Princesses don’t cry_, her grandmother used to tell her.

Daenerys always thought that was the stupidest thing ever, even as a child. Princesses are humans too. They should be allowed to cry. But as she grew up she slowly began to realise just how many things she was not allowed to do, under the pretence of being a princess.

There’s an underlying shame in appearing weak when one is considered royalty, it’s not understandable or justifiable to her – it just exists. And she’s had to learn to accept it and move on.

She usually does not have a hard time hiding her emotions. She thinks of herself as a pretty good actress, at masking how she feels and forcing herself to smile, since it is expected of her. So many things she’s mastered—the art of lying through her teeth for the press, to walk in heels and tight gowns that suffocate the life out of her, to always appear classy and nice.

But today, she cannot pretend.

Because sometimes she still feels like a little girl trapped in the body of someone who is _supposed_ to be strong, _supposed_ to be brave and _supposed_ to be indestructible. But she’s not. Not really.

She was doing fine so far, even seeing Jon Snow a few moments ago did not ruin her mood (too badly). She was _fine_. Her feelings were locked up, shoved down where they belonged. She woke up determined to get through the day with her head held high.

And then, Tyrion had seen her in the hallway a few minutes ago, while she was on her way to get dressed, and he called out for her, saying he had something crucial to show her.

“Yes?” Daenerys asked.

“Look what we made,” Tyrion announced excitedly, leading Daenerys to the living room.

Her breath hitched in her throat at the painted portrait of her mother. It was immense, taking up a quarter of the wall. Her eyes stayed glued to the painting, her heart thundering in her chest. Rhaella’s eyes were captivating. Her father used to always say that they shone brighter than a thousand diamonds and that painting got that right. Her silver golden hair was braided intricately, almost like one of Dany’s favourite hairstyles, flowing down her shoulders in translucent, bright waves. The crown that rested on her head was made of gold with an encrusted ruby in the middle.

Daenerys did not expect a painting, no matter how beautiful and realistic, to trigger something deep inside her, something which had been carefully hidden. The longer she stared into her mother’s eyes the more she began to realise that she would never get to see them in real life. Ever.

“Daenerys,” Tyrion said her name in a worried way, “are you alright?”

Daenerys blinked. _Don’t cry_, she told herself as she tasted the bitter lump in her throat. _Don’t cry, don’t cry_. Her eyes burned but she smiled. “It’s very beautiful.” Years of practice made it so that her voice did not crack, not even the slightest. Tyrion was fooled. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get dressed,” she said before fleeing.

Now she gets to cry. _Not too loud_, she reminds herself. Guards are all over the place. The last thing she needs is one of them barging into her room thinking she is being kidnapped or something, only to find her crying like a little girl. Daenerys collapses on her bed, pressing her face into her pillow to muffle the pitiful sounds. It’s the worst type of crying, she’s learned over the years. To have to choke in the tears so she does not make an audible noise. She swallows the big lump in her throat, the salty liquid from her eyes pouring onto her bed in large quantities. The feeling in her chest worsens, the weight of it all pushing onto her; hard and heavy.

After a while, the moment of weakness fades. Daenerys has to drag herself out of her bed, furiously wiping away at her tears and clearing her throat.

Erasing any sign of what just happened.

She takes a moment to breathe in and out_. In and out_. She finds herself getting angry for having done what she just did, for not being stronger. All of that because of a stupid drawing. She does not have time to fully recover from what just happened, three knocks are heard. Daenerys darts into her closet so she can make sure to completely wipe away the tears and hide the sight of her puffy eyes and red nose. “Come in,” she says, knowing it’s the hairdresser and makeup artist.

Daenerys greets them with a smile and a few polite words, her mask back on. The hurt in her chest eventually ebbs away. Like it always does. Perhaps it’s always there, just waiting to resurface. But Daenerys cannot think of that right now – she has a ceremony to attend, as a princess, not a weeping girl.

Daenerys had chosen the A-line black dress from a wide selection sent to her the day before. It’s not too much but not too little either, not enough to attract attention on such a day but not too little to appear underdressed at an event as big as this one. The worst part of choosing what to wear is the calculation and precision that need to go into every outfit – after all, the cameras see everything and a little misstep can cause a big scandal. Her makeup is light, cheeks brushed every so lightly, lips only coated with a layer of balm to moisten it. Her hair is let down, free of pins and braids that are too complicated to figure out where they start and where they end, instead the silver curls are waving down to her back and down her chest, a contrast to her midnight-coloured dress.

She takes a good look in the mirror and convinces herself that she is okay. Both physically and mentally. She’ll make it through this, like she has every year. She only needs to make sure that she doesn’t have another moment of frailty—not in front of all these people. Whatever she might feel, she needs to bottle it up for later. If she wishes to cry, she’ll have to wait until the sun has set and she is behind closed doors.

For once, she is almost thankful to see Jon Snow waiting for her outside her room. She’d rather find plenty of reasons to be annoyed at him during the ceremony (which, she’s sure she’ll manage just fine – this is Jon, after all) than think too much of her mother and fall back helplessly into that pit of dark emotions that are better kept locked and tucked away.

“Shall we?” he asks upon seeing her.

She doesn’t miss the way his eyes sweep up and down her figure. Very quickly, almost too fast to be noticeable.

Daenerys is surprised to see him wearing a tight-fitted black suit with a white dress shirt underneath. This must be the one Aerys gave him after he came here wearing a grey button-up, an outfit that had irked her endlessly.

Much to her dismay, it looks good on him. His dark, curly hair is neatly combed back into a bun. It’d be so much easier to hate this man if he was less pretty. She blinks that weird thought away and nods.

Jon walks closely next to Daenerys, his strong cologne infiltrating her nostrils. As they near the entrance to the balcony where the ceremony is taking place, Daenerys notices Jon’s steps faltering.

She looks at him expectantly, raising an eyebrow.

He gulps. “That’s a lot of people. And cameras.”

“For the cameras, they’ll keep their distance as I had requested,” Daenerys says, “and for the people…well, it’s like that every year.”

“How long is this thing?”

“Around four hours.”

Jon inhales deeply, most likely gathering his courage. His dark eyes find hers. “Ready?”

She nods once more and this time, he steps even closer to her, his presence can be physically felt in the form of body heat. People bombard Daenerys right away, as she had expected. A woman here, a man there. A distant uncle here, a ‘friend’ she does not even remember there. Jon never leaves her, though. He’s ever by her side, vigilant and careful. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel protected.

“Are you fine?” Jon asks her at some point, after she’s entertained a conversation with the tenth or thirteenth guest.

She wonders if the worsening of her mood is already visible to him. Putting on a light smile, she nods. “I’m doing good, don’t worry.”

He doesn’t stay anything.

When the speeches start, it gets harder for Daenerys. Some are talking about how much of an incredible woman Rhaella was, how much she used to love helping people. Daenerys tries her best to not look at the slideshow playing on the big screen. She doesn’t wish to cry again. She grits her teeth against the ball rising in her throat, the similar feeling she had this morning that sent her over the edge and stares ahead as one after the other, people take the mic, expressing their love for the deceased Queen.

When Aerys goes up, it becomes too much for Daenerys.

“Every year, I come here and say the exact same words,” Aerys begins, eyes already brimming with tears. “I love Rhaella. Not past tense, because I still love her and I will until I take my last breath. And perhaps, if there’s anything after that, I’ll love her there too. Or we’ll simply meet and be together again. There’s not much else for me to say as a husband. As a King, I’d like you all to remember all the things she did for this country. Her counsel and view of the world made so many of my decisions easier. And as a father, I would like to thank her for giving me the best thing in my whole life. My daughter. On that, I’d like to raise a glass to her. Long may she live in our hearts and in peace may her soul forever be.”

Daenerys raises her glass along with everyone else but cannot bring herself to smile, knowing it’s her turn yet. She walks to where her father is standing in shaky steps, her heart thudding against her ribcage when she notices that all eyes are on her. Aerys hands her the microphone with an encouraging smile. She returns it meekly.

Dany faces the crowd. “Rhaella,” she starts, praying her voice is stable and not shaky like the rest of her, “was an incredible person. Like my father said, she was an amazing Queen and wife and I am sure she would’ve been a great mother. I may not have experienced it myself but I know it, deep in my heart.” Her eyes wash over the numerous heads. Briefly, she eyes Jon. He is watching her intently, arms crossed. His gaze is unnerving so she looks elsewhere. Unfortunately, she then finds herself staring into her cousin’s cold, soulless eyes. Nobody notices the hitch in her breath nor will they know the way her heart drops in her chest. She blinks, trying to focus. Her breathing is shallower and her head is feeling funny and light. “She was…” Daenerys trails off, the words just _not _coming out. Trapped in her throat, they die and she is left staring at all these people who are looking at her expectantly. She hears the distinctive click of a camera and the clearing of a throat. Is it just her or is the room growing hotter? Her eyes inadvertently find Viserys’ again and his smile is cruel. He knows he already got in her head, with just one look.

“I’m sorry,” Dany utters. “That’s all I have to say.”

There is a brief wave of confused whispers before they start reluctantly applauding her. She feels her whole face burn with embarrassment and anger. _Stupid little girl, _she chastises herself as she hurries down the steps. Dany walks to the buffet, away from the buzzing crowd. She exhales a mighty breath, staring idly at the food as she attempts to calm herself down.

“Are you alright?” She doesn’t have to glance back to know who it is. She’s already familiarised herself with that voice—and his stupid smell.

“Yes,” Daenerys answers snappily. “Will you stop asking me that?”

“I’m sorry but you looked—”

“Oh look, my lovely cousin, Daenerys!”

At the tone of _that_ voice – obviously not Jon’s low one – Daenerys tenses up. She swallows before turning around slowly, coming face-to-face with none other than Viserys.

Daenerys sees Jon go numb as well, realisation hitting him too. But Viserys moves so quickly that Jon does not get to react, and he is already wrapping his arms around Daenerys. She lets out a barely audible gasp, her body filling up with tingles. Not the good kind. _Oh, no_. The tingles made for horror movies, the kind that fills one with disgust and dread.

Her repugnance only heightens when his mouth is next to her ear in the next second, “enjoyed the pie, darling?”

He is shoved away then and Daenerys can finally breathe again.

Dany is quick to notice the unhappy look on Jon’s face. She grabs his arm, stilling his other hand already balling into a fist against Viserys’ face. “Don’t,” she hisses out, “_cameras_.”

Jon unclenches his hand slowly, and lets Viserys’ collar go with a huff, coming to stand protectively closer to Daenerys, literally shielding her from Viserys’ touch and eyes.

Viserys adjusts his collar, looking at Jon amusedly, eyeing him up and down with a slow movement of his head. “New boyfriend? Never saw you before, millionaire? Lawyer? These are usually the type of men my lovely cousin goes for.”

“I am her bodyguard,” Jon stresses out.

Viserys’ eyebrows raise. “Ah. Nice. So, you’re…_nobody_ and you just had the nerve to try to punch me? To even consider laying a finger on me?” he asks slowly, his voice dripping with a harsh sweetness, his smile cold. “I have men who could kill you in the blink of an eye.”

“I didn’t punch you,” Jon slowly tells him, “just as you won’t make use of those…_men_ you have. You know why? Because too many people could see. So instead of trying to play whichever game you came here to play, instead of approaching Daenerys again I would suggest you walk away and pretend you’re done with this conversation. Because you and I both know you’re not going to try anything stupid. If you do, I’ll probably kill you for it. And if I don’t get to do that, it will still be seen on cameras and you’ll most likely be executed anyway. Do us all a favour and spare us your fake grief for Queen Rhaella.”

Daenerys stares at Jon in disbelief. For a man who is more muscles than words, he sure knows how to rile up a person with _just_ words. It’s the first time she’s witnessed Jon as someone truly intimidating, his frame tall and dark, his eyes locked on Viserys’ without the littlest fear present in them and his jaw clenched.

Viserys’ smile flattens out, disappearing into nothing. “Fake grief?” he repeats, his voice gone low and serious. “Remind me who you think you are. Fake grief, you say, as if you know what I felt for Rhaella.” He takes a step forward – not towards Daenerys but Jon. “I loved that woman like a mother,” Viserys slowly pronounces through gritted teeth.

“And you,” Viserys says accusingly, eyes drifting to Daenerys. He lets out a humourless laugh. “You killed her.”

_Don’t cry._

Jon is frowning and looking at Viserys like he has grown three heads. “What the hell are you even saying? It’s known that Rhaella died from a fever gone wrong,” he says.

_Don’t cry._

Viserys looks back at Jon, a cruel smirk on his face. “Someday,” he muses, “you and the rest of the world will know the real reason but until then, have fun with the lies.” He bows mockingly to Daenerys, “see you later, cousin.”

_Don’t cry._

Jon shakes his head. “A proper asshole,” he mutters, watching Viserys depart. Looks back at Daenerys, “sorry for the language, he’s just honestly worse than what I had thought. And is he crazy? You’ve nothing to do with—”

Daenerys does not hear the rest of what he is saying. She turns on her heels and storms off.

_Don’t cry_, she tells herself for the umpteenth time as a lonely tear disobeys her orders and travels down her cheek.

***

Jon’s first inclination is to follow her. Even if he did not want to, he had to. Aerys has specified that he expects Jon to stay by Daenerys’ side at all times and after meeting Viserys Targaryen, Jon understands why.

He finds Daenerys shortly after she abruptly left him. He spots her hair first, pale waves of silver tumbling down her back. Jon slows his steps, looking around him. They’re thankfully inside the castle, away from everyone else. He is happy to be able to breathe in some proper oxygen, at last, he was beginning to swelter out there.

Jon notices that Daenerys is not moving. When he walks closer, he finally sees what she is gazing at in wonder. He looks at the painting, marvelled, surprised at the details and the size of it all.

“You look just like her,” Jon finds himself saying, too late to stop the words now.

Daenerys does not answer at first. And finally, she quietly says, “she was way more beautiful than I will ever be.”

Jon slowly looks at her. He’s pretty sure Daenerys is prettier but he doesn’t say that. He blinks in surprise at the sight of the redness in her eyes, barely visible but still there. Has she been crying?

Daenerys glances at him quickly, both of them looking away at the same time. She heavily exhales. “Don’t,” she says.

“Don’t what?”

“Whatever…you think you should do,” she mutters, “some compassionate speech or something. Save it. I’ve heard enough of those today.”

In her desperate attempt at a show of strength, Daenerys Targaryen looks the weakest she has ever been.

But to Jon, that only makes her human.

“I was not going to,” Jon tells her honestly.

She looks up at him quizzically. “No? You’re not even going to ask what Viserys was talking about?” She presses her lips together, “or has my father already told you about what happened to my mother?” Her tone is almost accusatory.

Jon shakes his head. “No,” he answers, “I don’t know what he was speaking about. And I don’t want to know. It’s your personal life and not a part of my job.”

“What about the speech I totally flunked?” Daenerys scoffs at herself.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh, please. I couldn’t utter more than a few words. It was a disaster and everyone saw it. Soon, the whole country will.” She takes in a deep breath. “At least I gave the press what they came here for.”

Jon doesn’t understand. “You think they came here to see you fail?”

Violet eyes clash into his. “Of course, they did. You think any of these people really care about me, my father or Rhaella? Most of them came to be seen. And the one with cameras came for the spiciest scoop. They thrive off such things.”

Jon can’t say he knew that. This is not his life _at all_, anyway. “Some must truly care,” he tries. “People really do love your father.” He meets her eyes. "And you're loved as well."

She doesn’t seem convinced.

He takes in a deep breath. “As for Viserys, I won’t let him hurt you.”

“You think you can protect me?” she asks. “You think you make a difference?”

In a way, yes, he does. Jon knows he fights better than anyone in this place, perhaps just not as disciplined as they do but that’s not important. He doesn’t mind fighting dirty to do his job properly. “I made a promise to your father—”

“That doesn’t mean anything to anyone,” she snaps.

He locks his jaw. “It might not mean anything to _you_ but my word to him means everything to me. And I intend to keep it.”

Daenerys continues to look at him for a long moment and as much as he wants to cower from her piercing stare, he does not. She is the one to break the staring contest, dragging her gaze back to the picture. “You can go back outside,” Daenerys tells Jon, voice faint and far-flung. For someone who usually doesn’t like leaving without having the last word, she sounds dejectedly done with arguing, “I’ll be there in a few seconds. I just need some time alone.”

Jon respectfully nods and begins to walk away. As if pulled by some unknown force, Jon stops and turns back to her. She is still staring at her mother, a sad look on her face. She’s worn this same haunted look from the moment he saw her this morning; as if she is going to break down at any second now. Jon is certain that’ll never happen—someone like Daenerys will never show an ounce of weakness. But still, he’s never seen her so upset. So _human. _

_Walk out_, a voice tells him_, making her feel better is not a part of your job_.

An inner battle is fought in Jon’s mind as he is torn between just going out and pretending that she is fine or try to actually make sure that she is. He wonders which one Aerys would want him to do. He supposes that doesn’t matter, his only task for the day is to keep her safe and she is safe. Yet, he finds himself unable to leave her like this. He gives up with a sigh and lets the words out, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Daenerys does not turn back right away. When she does, she looks at him incredulously. “Excuse me?” she questions.

_Idiot, you should have walked out._

He can’t believe that he just ever so casually asked the future Queen of this country to ‘get out of here’ with him, as if she is his friend and not someone he’s supposed to protect.

Jon keeps a straight face and continues despite the logical part of his brain telling him not to, “I’m going to get Ghost home today. If you want, you could come along because you clearly seem unwell.”

The longer she stares at him, unblinking, the more Jon begins to think she will just walk over to him and slap him – probably also throw one of her ‘do you know who I am?’ tantrums at him for even presuming to speak to her as such. What did he even think he was doing? Just because he caught her at an obviously weak moment does not give him the right to think he could just randomly ask a princess to accompany him to adopt a dog!

Jon can almost picture Gendry laughing at him in his mind for having even dared ask her that.

Instead of all the horrible things she could say, though, Daenerys says, “let’s go.”

Jon blinks. _Wait…what_? “Okay, we will—”

“Now,” she corrects, “let’s go now.”

“What? I – the – you –” Jon swallows, stupefied and shakes his head, “the ceremony’s not over. We can’t just leave. Your father…he will….” Jon trails off. _Kill me_, he thinks.

Daenerys takes a threatening step forward, her eyes shining. “Will you go, yes or no?” she quips.

Jon Snow should have known how bad he is at saying no by now. “How will we leave without getting seen?”

He regrets the question right away when she smirks. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

When she turns on her heels and begins walking away, he blinks out of whatever trance she’d put him in and helplessly follows her. He knows this is a terrible idea—especially when she lures him in a dark, secretive corridor which is so far away from where everyone is that it completely blocks out all the exterior sounds.

“Uh,” Jon nervously stammers, “Maybe we should just go back a-and wait until this is over.”

“Maybe you should just keep quiet and follow me,” is her dry reply.

Jon sighs quietly and much to his relief, they finally emerge from the darkened alley out in the open. He looks around in confusion, not recognising the big trees and bushes.

“We’re in the backyard,” she states at his befuddled expression.

He is completely mind-blown and judging from the glint in her eyes, she can tell. “Does your father know about this trick?” he asks, chuckling.

She quirks a brow. “Do you think it’d still work if he did?”

His eyes find hers. “How do you know I won’t tell him?”

She shrugs. “I have hundreds of others, so be my guest.”

He was just joking but Daenerys seems to have taken him seriously, her retort quick and sharp. He opens his mouth to tell her that he won’t snitch to Aerys but she is already facing away from him, leading the way, eager to get out of here. He follows her for the second time this day and a funny feeling dances in the pits of his stomach, a weird kind of nervousness at the thought of being with Daenerys outside of this castle just for the sake of getting away from what’s happening here.

This might turn out to be a great experience for them to finally, _finally_ break the ice and start acting civil toward one another or this might just turn into the grandest disaster he’s ever known.

Only time will tell.

***

Ghost absolutely hates Jon.

From the way the huge beast displayed all of his teeth (in a not-so-friendly fashion) when he saw Jon, there was no denying that fact.

“It’s fine,” Ashley said when she opened his cage and saw the way Jon retreated instinctually, “he’s just scared.”

_No_, Jon thought_, I am._

But when he saw Daenerys, Ghost turned back into the little angel Jon had first seen when he came here. He wagged his tail-happy, making these soft happy puppy sounds that were simply adorable and Jon _swore_ he could almost see him smile.

In the end, it’s Daenerys who ends up carrying Ghost (in her freaking arms, the dog’s fluffy hair covering her whole body and face) and Jon tags behind, guarding both Daenerys against people who could see them and himself from the dog.

She hops in the backseat with Ghost on her lap.

Jon gets in his car nervously. He’s never had a princess in this vehicle. Hells, he’s not certain he’s ever brought a girl home in his car. And now he has royalty (and a dog who looks like he’s three seconds away from decapitating him) in the back. It’s weird. Not to mention that Jon’s car smells of beer and popcorn in here for some reasons and that Gendry has left a pack of cigarettes in the backseat, just next to Daenerys.

“Sorry for the mess,” he apologises sheepishly.

She barely pays him any attention, too engulfed in the huge dog sitting on her. She is cooing sweet words to him, an easy smile on her face as she ruffles the dog’s fur. “You’re going to have a home, buddy,” Jon hears her whisper to Ghost, chuckling as the dog barks happily. “Yes you are, big boy. Who’s the best boy in the world? That’s you!”

He should look away. And he definitely should _not_ find the way she playfully nudges the dog’s snout with that face-breaking grin of hers cute in any way.

_He doesn’t_, he tells himself, _nothing about her will ever be near ‘cute’._

As Jon begins to drive, he realises the gravity of the situation he’s thrown himself in by being a complete idiot. He forgot that bringing Ghost home also now implies bringing Daenerys to his home. And _holy shit_, has the temperature risen in the car? Heat creeps up his chest, his body turning hot under the weight of the suit. His place is even messier than his shitty car. No place for bloody royalty. He doesn’t even know if he’s picked up the half-eaten pizza Gendry had left on his couch before leaving last night, what if he hasn’t?

He forces these thoughts to the back of his head for two main reasons. One, he’s afraid he might crash into something if he begins panicking about this. And two, it’s not like he can throw Daenerys Targaryen out of his moving car now, so, the only thing left to do is face the music when it starts playing.

Ghost does not even require a leash with Daenerys. He follows her obediently like a trained dog. Despite the completely new neighbourhood, the white dog doesn’t seem too bothered. He stays close to Daenerys, occasionally bumping against her hand which causes her to let out a string of ador—_annoying_ chuckles.

Jon stops in front of the door, takes in a deep breath and begins, “my place is a mess and I apologise in adva—”

“Oh please,” she huffs, rolling her eyes, “don’t be one of those people to think that I would find a normal house messy just because it’s not super big and expensive or something. Let’s go already, don’t be overdramatic.”

Has he mentioned how obnoxious her sharp tongue and inability to let him finish his fucking sentences are?

“Well, you asked for it,” Jon warns her before unlocking his door, inviting her in with a mocking bow at which she just glares.

Ghost barks, the tone of that sound can only be described as curious to Jon and makes a sprint for it inside Jon’s place as if he’s always known he’d end up here.

Daenerys watches him with amusement. “He approves,” she concludes.

He smiles, appeased. But only momentarily—because then Daenerys is stepping inside and, fuck, he really hopes Gendry learned some manners and got rid of the fucking pizza.

He shuts the door behind her. (And yes, thank goodness, the pizza is not here). His place is not in its best state but not the worst either. Still, he can’t bring himself to wrap his head around Daenerys’ presence. Even the sight of her silver hair, a stark contrast to his choice in dark furniture, is unsettling for him.

His trail of thoughts gets broken by the sounds of heavy paws running around.

Daenerys turns to him, hands clasped in front of her. “You got him a room?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. I’d suggest sleeping with him but that’s fine too.”

He widens his eyes. She thought he’d let this _beast _on his bed?

At his expression, she chuckles. “I’m only kidding. But it’d help to get to know each other well.” She looks like a mean schoolteacher as she wanders into his kitchen, even the way she walks exudes confidence and he’s forced to trail behind her as if she commanded him to. She might as well have. “The food?”

He points at the bag next to the refrigerator. “I bought these and, uh, some varieties of meat. I don’t know what he eats but I picked a…bunch. Just to be sure.”

Daenerys nods, examining everything. “Good. Glad you’re taking this seriously. We should let him get used to the place before trying to feed him something. He hasn’t eaten since this morning.”

Jon can’t help himself. “We?”

She raises an eyebrow at his query. “He might be living with you but he’s equally _my_ dog. I’ll pay for his food and other things from time to time, I insist.”

The notion of it is almost comical to him. He jests, “So we’re co-parenting a dog now?”

Daenerys makes a face, although her eyes hold no reproach or anger at his playful words. Instead, they’re as light as her tone when she asks, “let’s say divorced parents who want nothing to do with one another except for the welfare of their kid.”

Jon cannot stop the laugh that comes out of his mouth. He lifts his arms in mock surrender. “Wow, alright.”

When Ghost is done exploring Jon’s house – and he hopes the dog did just _that _and did not try exploring in some other…dirty ways – he trots back to where Daenerys is, panting heavily. She pets him on his head and it’s almost as if he is beaming up at her. Jon watches him warily.

“You know you’ll actually have to – how do I say this – _touch_ him at some point, right?” Daenerys demands sarcastically.

Jon eyes the dog. “Uh…sure.”

Daenerys sighs and in a swift motion, pulls her hair up in a bun, sitting down on the carpet. Jon panics, “why are you sitting down—”

“Just sit,” she cuts him off with a glare.

Jon hesitantly lowers himself to the ground.

“Ghost,” Dany calls out softly and Ghost obediently comes up to her, resting his head on her knee and allowing her to scratch his ear. “Good boy,” she coos. Meets Jon’s eyes and nods. “Go on.”

Jon’s mouth has gone dry, tongue thick. Gods, the dog is huge. He could eat him whole in just a few bites. “You know what? I’ll pass. Maybe we just need some time to—”

Daenerys catches Jon wholly off guard when she bluntly reaches out for his arm, her warm palm wrapping around his wrist and bringing his hand to Ghost’s head without his permission. He stills for a moment, too afraid to move his hand. Daenerys guides his hand along Ghost’s fur. Jon ignores the way his skin tingles funnily at the place of contact and instead focuses on the fact that he’s touching Ghost and he hasn’t fainted yet. She slowly releases his hand until he is petting him alone. “See, it wasn’t that bad,” Daenerys utters with a roll of her eyes.

Instead of being amazed at the fact that he’s caressing Ghost’s fluffy white head, Jon is more flabbergasted at the fact that he thinks he might’ve just caught Daenerys smiling _at_ him. It’s gone too quickly so he might’ve imagined it because it seems too unlikely anyway.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes. Jon takes it out in time to see that it is Ygritte calling. Daenerys glances at him briefly and then back to Ghost.

He supposes he could pick up and speak to her for a moment. But this is the first time he’s gone this long without ending up in an argument with the princess and he wants to hold onto that moment for a while longer. He puts his phone back where it was. Ygritte can wait.

Jon goes back to tentatively rubbing over Ghost’s head.

Daenerys hums. “He likes you.”

He eyes the dog, who looks quite sleepy, and asks, “How can you tell?”

“Well, he hasn’t tried biting your hand off for once.”

Jon tenses up. “That was an option?”

She gives him a demure look, eyes gleaming. “Yeah.”

He rolls his eyes at her and they stay like this for a few more minutes, playing with Ghost, his fingers brushing against Daenerys’ occasionally – and _accidentally_, of course.

***

Daenerys should have checked her phone more often, she should’ve known that leaving the ceremony without informing a soul would lead to some terrible things. And when she notices that Aerys blew up her cell with hundreds of calls and text messages, Dany knows she is fucked.

She knows this is her fault. But she was so busy teaching Ghost how to play fetch with Jon with the aid of some extremely bizarre tutorials online that she did not pay attention to how long she was at his house. It was weird because she felt more at ease there than at the ceremony in her own home. While she had been previously on edge, sad and unnerved by Viserys, all of these emotions had washed away as soon as Jon brought her to his house. It felt like a perfect escape. Obviously, that must be because of Ghost—not Jon. She still doesn’t like him.

When they arrive at the castle, the ceremony is long over, maids cleaning about. Aerys is pacing the large garden, two guards standing behind him and when he spots Jon, his eyes widen. “WHERE WERE YOU?” The King yells, his tone making Dany flinch. Oh gods, she’s truly fucked.

Jon freezes. “Wha—”

“Are you serious?” Aerys continues, his voice ringing and piercing and _intimidating_, “I’ve been worried sick all this time. Do you have any idea what went through my head?” His eyes move between the two of them, his face red with fury, “I thought Viserys got his hands on you! Goddammit, Jon! Where have you been? Are you utterly insane to leave without informing anyone? To take my daughter with you?”

Jon stands straight and begins shaking his head. “I’m sorry I—”

“Jon, as much as I trust you, I cannot have you do such things,” Aerys snaps, “you forgetting a royal dress code is fine but taking my daughter out of her mother’s ceremony to gods know where without even bothering to ask me first?” He pauses, breathing heavily. “Why have I even hired you if you’re going to scare me like that?”

When nobody says anything, Aerys exhales slowly and runs a hand through his face. “Are you going to say something? Either of you?”

Daenerys looks at Jon, who has his head hung low.

This is what she has wanted all along, to get an opportunity to bring Jon down. She knows her father’s temper.

_Yet_.

She knows that if it were not for the little excursion Jon took her on, she would have been in her room bawling her eyes out right now. She would’ve had to deal with these people the entire day, pretending to be okay while all she really wanted to do was to crawl under her bed covers and weep for the mother she’d never known. As much as she hates to admit it, only Jon made this day bearable to her.

There is this strange sense of guilt that resides at the pits of her stomach and instead of letting Jon take the blame, instead of finally achieving what she has been wanting for so long, Daenerys sighs and says, “it was my fault.”

Both Jon and Aerys quickly look at her.

“What?” Aerys demands, frowning.

“I was not feeling good,” Daenerys answers, “and I asked Jon to take me out of here. Viserys came up to me earlier and he really got to me. I couldn’t stand being around him any longer, you have to understand.” She licks her lips thoughtfully. “And Jon has adopted Ghost. Remember, the dog I saved? So, we went to get him from the shelter.”

Aerys visibly unwinds. “Gods,” he breathes out, “you should have just _told_ me.” He shakes his head and looks at Jon, an apology clearly written on his face, “son, I didn’t mean to shout…I just…you know how worried I get over her.”

“Of course, it’s mostly my fault. There’s no excuse for me forgetting to inform you,” Jon says, “It slipped out of my mind. I just wanted to make sure that Daenerys feels better.”

He says the words so sincerely that Dany almost believes he was looking out for her.

Which can’t be the case, right? Knowing Jon, he most likely got annoyed at the whole ceremony and just wanted a way out but since he had to protect her, he found a way to take him with her.

Aerys nods slowly. “It’s fine. And I’m so glad you two are getting along now.” He goes on to lightly pat Jon on his shoulder, “Next time, just come to me first. Almost gave me a heart attack there.”

“I will,” Jon promises.

Aerys looks at them with a pleased smile before walking away.

Daenerys begins departing as well but Jon’s voice halts her. “What was that?”

She looks at him. “What was what?”

Jon frowns. “_That_,” he says again, knowing well she understands what he is speaking of, “why would you do this? Isn’t this what you wanted all along? You would have gotten what you desired, your father was this close to getting rid of me.”

She shrugs. “It is what I want. But I don’t want to be lying to get there. After all, it is is I who suggested we leave the event and I won’t lie to my father – not even to get you fired. And we both know he would not have fired you, maybe he would’ve just gotten angry.” What she said holds some truth but not the entirety of it and she is aware of that. But even she does not fully understand her ulterior motives.

Jon begins to nod. Very slowly. And scrutinises her in a way she detests. He smiles. “I see.”

She narrows her eyes. “What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because there is nothing to see. As I said, I did that only because I did not want to lie to my father.”

“Okay.”

“And nothing more.”

“Okay.”

She wants to wipe that stupid grin off his _stupid_ face. “And I – I still don’t like you. And I’m still going to find some other way to get you out of my life once and for all.”

“Okay.”

Daenerys glares at him even more. If her eyes could shoot lasers right now, Jon would be ten feet underground. “Stop doing that,” she says warningly.

Jon tilts his head sideways. “Doing what?” he asks, a pure look of innocence on.

She balls her fists. “You know exactly what. Smiling at me like…like….”

“Like what?” He laughs, “I didn’t know you were allowed to command me _not_ to smile now. I doubt that’s part of the rules.”

Daenerys feels her cheeks heat up. She knows she is only going to embarrass herself further by babbling on so she doesn’t. She won’t give him this satisfaction. “You know what? I’m not going to deal with you any more than I have to so goodbye,” she says through gritted teeth.

When he says, “see you tomorrow,” as she turns around to leave, she can still picture the smile on his face. _Damned you, Jon Snow._

***

Jon pushes the bowl forward with his foot. “Eat,” he orders.

Ghost looks down at the food and then back up to Jon in confusion, tilting his head to the side. Jon sighs in frustration. “Come on,” he insists.

Ghost remains seated in front of Jon, unmoving.

Jon decides to take matters in his own hands. He sits down and shoves the bowl until it is touching his paws. Ghost barely reacts, his tongue lolling to the side of his mouth as he stares at his new owner like he is the one who’s insane.

“It’s not hard,” he explains, “just eat. Like that.” He bends down to show him, angling his head to the dogfood, eyeing Ghost suspiciously. The animal looks completely lost.

Out of the blue, his front door opens and in comes Gendry, excitedly yelling, “are you ready to get your ass beat—what the actual fuck?”

Jon blinks. Realises his position. “It’s not what you think,” he says, laughing lightly.

Gendry makes a weird face. “I always knew you had a weird taste in food but that is slightly extreme, Snow.”

Jon scoffs and gets up, crossing his arms at Ghost. “Fine,” he loudly says, “don’t eat then.”

He goes to sit on his couch and watches Gendry approach him hesitantly, tiptoeing his way to Jon. Jon’s friend is utterly terrified of Ghost, which amuses Jon endlessly since Gendry is always the fiercest during combats, often looking even deadlier than Jon himself. Yet here he is, awkwardly moving to Jon while also keeping an eye out on the fluffy dog.

“Gods, he gives me the creeps,” Gendry whisper-yells. “Look at his eyes. Straight out of a horror movie.”

“He’s cute, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Jon replies.

“You’re insane, man. Why not get a puppy? Or a cat? A fish?” Gendry questions, gazing at Ghost who has laid down and started licking his paws—still ignoring his food.

Jon does not regret adopting Ghost. He’s only been here for two days but Jon already loves him. But _gods_ is he stubborn.

Almost like Daenerys.

If he were to say that out loud to her, Jon is pretty sure she would smack him over the head. But the resemblance in terms of personality (and the hair colour, duh) is uncanny. “I don’t want a fish,” Jon huffs, “Ghost’s great. He just needs some time to adapt. With Daenerys’ help, I’m sure things will work out.”

“Hold on,” Gendry whistles, raising his hands questioningly, “Daenerys’ help?”

“Yeah, the princess—”

“I know who Daenerys is,” Gendry cuts him off, rolling his eyes, “but you didn’t mention you two own a _fucking_ dog together. What did I miss?”

“We don’t…technically own him together. She’s the one who saved Ghost when he was a puppy and brought him to the shelter and the other day, I went there with her and saw him. I’ve never seen a more beautiful and terrifying dog in my entire life. I proposed to adopt him since she can’t and I’ve always wanted a pet, was considering getting a dog anyway. She was okay with it but still insisted that she would also help to raise him.”

“In other words,” Gendry concludes, “you own a fucking dog together.”

Jon shrugs.

“And that’s normal for you?” Gendry demands, gawking at Jon, “just the other day you were going off about how insufferable she was.”

“She’s…,” Jon trails off, not really knowing how to _fully_ describe Daenerys. Insufferable, she is. There is no doubt about that. And if asked what he thought of her on the first day he started working – insufferable would be the only word in his mind. But now, there are other words too. Daenerys is compassionate. She wants to help others without needing the act to be on the cover of every magazine sold in Westeros. At her mother’s annual commemoration, Jon got a glimpse of a brand new side of the young princess he’d never seen before. A woman, a _human_, with feelings and emotional baggage just like everyone else. She tried to hide it, tried to appear strong but the cracks were there all the same. And it made him wonder if what he thinks he knows of her is merely just another façade.

In addition to all of that, Daenerys took the blame upon herself when it came to Aerys and got Jon out of trouble without hesitation despite saying that it was only because she did not want to lie to her father.

So, insufferable, yes, but so many other things. Things that destabilise Jon.

Gendry raises an eyebrow at Jon’s prolonged silence. “So, you no longer hate her?” Gendry questions.

Jon sighs. “Well, hate is a heavy word—”

“Oh boy—”

“_But_,” Jon continues, louring at Gendry for the teasing smirk forming on his lips, “that does not mean I’m a big fan of her attitude. I just appreciate that despite her not-so-great personality, she has other good attributes that I can’t deny.”

Gendry nods slowly. “And she’s pretty.”

“I don’t see the point of this.”

Gendry snorts. “One of the prettiest women in the world owns a dog with you. And you spend a lot of time around her. I’m just saying…things can escalate quickly.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jon groans, shaking his head. “She is a princess.”

“So what?”

“So what?” Jon echoes incredulously, “her being a princess makes her way more off-limits than anything else.”

“You’re saying if she was not a princess then….”

“Then nothing,” Jon states calmly, knowing that Gendry is just messing around but feeling the need to justify himself still. He feels weirdly defensive for someone who knows that his mate is just joking. “She can barely stand me. And there’s Aerys…and I’ve no idea why we’re even having this conversation in the first place.”

As Jon takes a look at Ghost, he gasps in surprise. “He’s eating!” Jon exclaims, “holy shit. _Finally_. I’ve been trying since this morning.” He gazes at Ghost digging in his food happily, feeling foolishly proud and overly excited. “Is this what being a dad feels like?” Jon inquires jokingly.

Gendry says, “I don’t know. Ask the mother.”

At his impish voice, Jon picks up the toy Ghost has been chewing on all morning – the one still coated with his saliva – and throws it at Gendry who roars in laughter and then grunts in disgust.

***

Varys comes to see Daenerys that night before she goes to bed.

He always knocks three consecutive times and then once more, a stupid thing that they taught each other when Dany was still a kid and he would sneak in candy in her room at night after everyone would go to sleep. The habit has stuck.

Daenerys was brushing her hair when he knocked. She greets him with a small, confused smile.

Varys returns it. “Princess.”

“Varys,” Dany says, “Is something the matter?”

“I only came to see how you were doing after today. I know it’s always tough to get through this particular day…and I heard about your encounter with your cousin.”

“I’ve had worse encounters with Viserys,” she answers flatly. “Nothing new, really. Just him looking to get a reaction out of me.”

“Did he?”

“I know him too well to give him that satisfaction. But Jon….”

Varys hums understandingly. “Heard he threatened him right then and there.”

Daenerys chuckles, surprised. “Not much gets by you, huh?”

His smile is wicked. “I have to maintain my reputation,” he says and does a horrible attempt at a wink, which makes Dany giggle and shake her head.

“Speaking of Jon Snow’s temper,” Varys drawls, “Remember what you asked me about him? To find some…_stuff_?”

Dany is quick to understand that Varys’ research returned fruitfully. Judging from the devilish glint in the old man’s eyes, she is willing to bet he found something interesting. Daenerys from a day before wouldn’t have thought twice about it before ordering him to tell her what he found out—but the present Dany just came back from spending an afternoon with Jon and her dog and her quest to get him to resign suddenly does not seem that important.

But it _is_.

Today might’ve been an exception but otherwise, she still does not like him. She does not need him to follow her around. She does not _need_ him—she doesn’t want to need him. So, she opens her door wider and invites Varys in.

***

Viserys fills two cups of wine. And passes the other one to him.

“Daenerys certainly got prettier,” Viserys says and sips on his drink.

“She looks like Rhaella.”

Viserys tightens his grip on the goblet at the mention of _that_ name. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“It was only a joke.”

Viserys sighs. “I didn’t bring you here to joke.” He pauses. “Tell me about this…new bodyguard of hers.”

“Oh? You’ve met him already? Funny. Aerys thought he would fly right under your radar.”

“He tried to act tough with me. Touched me, even,” Viserys says, staring at the flickering flame of the candle as he recalls the man’s hardened stare. “Are they together?”

The man sitting across him snorts distastefully. “No. They don’t really like each other at all.”

Viserys hums. “Will he be an obstacle?”

“I doubt so. But he fights good, I’ll tell you that. Haven’t you seen him on TV?”

“No,” Viserys answers, “I don’t really watch sports.” Viserys drinks some more, thinks some more. “The pie was a disaster. What next?”

“Sunday. A party with her friends. Fewer bodyguards since it’s a private party. Even Jon Snow does not work on Sundays.”

Viserys smiles. “Interesting.”

His tone is teasing when he says, “And please, no pie. Try something smarter…I know you can do it.”

The flame is almost dying down so Viserys turns to his friend, swirling the remaining wine in his cup with a sinister smile as he quirks a brow, “you are the _smart_ one. Tell me how I shall proceed.”

“I’ll try to advise you the best I can,” Tyrion answers finally, returning his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MHASFHBFY (wow thats messier than the actual title) will be updated at the end of this week for anyone wondering, exams were kicking my ass the past few weeks but all is good now so hopefully i'll be trying to maintain weekly updates for all of my stories. 
> 
> as for this story, i see there are a lot of first-time readers too so let me know your thoughts, feedback is always appreciated even if this is a repost i'd still love to hear what you guys think! :)


	4. Chapter 4

During breakfast this morning, as the sunlight dances on their skin and Daenerys is revelling in the warmth serenely, Margaery breaks the silence by suddenly saying, “You know, I’ve been thinking about this Jon Snow.”

Daenerys looks up at her friend questioningly and frowns. “Have you?”

The auburn-haired girl nods her head while cutting her toast leisurely, smiling at Dany as she does so. She always has this secretive glint in her smile, as if she knows something everybody else doesn’t but that’s just Margaery.

“Why?” Daenerys asks, stealing a piece of buttered bread from her and bringing to her mouth.

Margaery shrugs. “I’ve just been curious to what extremes he’d go to keep this job.”

Daenerys leans back in her chair and sighs. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” She shakes her head to herself as she chews on the piece of bread. Jon is an incorrigible, honourable piece of—

Whatever.

He’s not going to give up. She might as well stop trying and accept that from now on, she’ll have his stupid head of curly hair following her around like a shadow, tracking her every move with his ominous grey eyes and that frown on his brows that never seems to fade around her; as if he despises everything about Dany. She doesn’t care if he does, of course, because the feeling is so very mutual.

“He’s not giving up. I’ve tried my best. Nothing works.”

“You’ve tried only one method,” Margaery says thoughtfully, “you’ve been a complete bitch to him for the past weeks, am I right?”

Dany chuckles. “That’s one way to put it.” But she was. She tried everything to annoy and pester him and she could tell that it worked, often indicated by the tick in his jaw or the way he’d mutter a curse so low she could’ve misheard it. However, it didn’t work well enough for him to pack his bags and _go_.

“And that obviously did not work. Which means that he’s got a pretty good resistance to annoyance,” Margaery continues, eyes beaming mischievously, “but what if it’s the other way around?”

Daenerys props her elbows on the table, lightly moving her head from side to side. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Margaery takes her time to reply, leaning forward as she says, “what if you’re sweet to him?”

Daenerys scoffs. “You want me to nicely ask him to resign? After I’ve shouted it at him numerous times before?”

“Not ask him. Ease him into it.” She winks at Daenerys.

“What does that even mean?”

Margaery gives her a look.

Daenerys narrows her eyes. “You want me to…what? Seduce him into it?” she asks, laughing at the incredulous idea.

“I wouldn’t use that word but yes,” Margaery answers, “someone once said what is honour compared to a woman’s love?”

Daenerys almost chokes on her own spit and laughter. “He _hates_ me, he’s nowhere in love with me.”

Margaery groans. “That was metaphorical. I’m just saying, if he’s like majority of men, which I believe he is, then trust me, honour and loyalty will fly out of the window the second he can get his hands on you.”

“I’m not going to sleep with a guy I can barely stand to get what I want,” Dany declares firmly, rolling her eyes. “I’m desperate but not that badly.”

Margaery goes back to tanning, sighing happily as she lies back down on the chair. She shrugs at her response, “it’s merely a suggestion. And I’m sure you’d like to see the honourable Jon Snow do something not so honourable, wouldn’t you?”

The last bit makes Daenerys think.

Daenerys is aware of her beauty and the effect it had on many men. But the thing is, Jon Snow is not like most men. He seems hell-bent on being as honourable as humanly possible, at fulfilling this dumb promise he made to her father, even if she fails to see why it’s so important.

It won’t work. Especially not if he obviously dislikes her as much as she does him.

But on the other hand, it’d be fun to see.

The devil on Daenerys’ shoulder has always had more impact on her decision-making, which would explain why she’s so tempted by her friend’s idea—even if she knows it’s a terrible, terrible one.

***

“Hello, Jon. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Jon notices a lot of things right away.

First of all, why in the Seven Hells would Daenerys be _waiting_ for him? She had not told him she was expecting him so technically she should not be needing his service at all today. And this is Daenerys, she’d take up any opportunity to evade him for one day. Her waiting for him in the garden under a lemon tree, hands clasped in front of her, makes zero sense to him.

Second of all, what is that voice? Not the usual snappy, authoritative and arrogant tone she uses all the time to bicker with him like the petulant child she could. Daenerys’ voice is softer, a tone higher and in a weird way – _sweeter_, if that makes any sense. It almost sounds like she is not annoyed with his existence for once.

She usually goes for skirts and dresses with complicated designs that Jon does not even try to understand. He’s never been big on his knowledge of fashion or understanding of current trends. But with all the shopping Daenerys does, she is always in something newer and fancier. Today it looks like she has just woken up and did not even bother to change into something decent.

The filmy robe she is wearing can only be described as almost translucent. A pale blue colour that almost seems see-through under the sparkling lights of the sun. A plunging neckline that reveals more of the princess’ skin than what should be considered appropriate. Not appropriate for his eyes, anyway. And her hair—which is usually pulled up in complicate braids wrapped up in diamonds or flowers or some kind of jewellery—is flowing freely today, completely free of pins and intricate tresses. He’s never seen her so underdressed before. It makes him fidget in place, not really knowing where to look or what to expect from this new Daenerys who is somehow more unnerving than ever.

Realising that she’s said something almost a minute ago and that he has not yet responded in any way except from moving from foot to foot uncomfortably, Jon blinks rapidly and says, “hello D— ma’am.”

Daenerys smiles.

Jon almost wants to check if the sun has risen in the North today. _Why is she smiling at him?_ “You were…waiting for me?” he asks, wishing to know if he’s made that up.

“Yes.”

The only word that comes out of Jon’s mouth is, “why?”

“I don’t have anything better to do today so I thought I could show you around the ranch. Has father ever taken you there?”

“Uh. No.”

“Great! Do you want to go?”

Jon is utterly confused. “Sure…? I – I mean, if that’s where you’re going.” Since when does Daenerys Targaryen _care_ where he wants to go? And why would she willingly want to spend the day with him if she has nothing else to do? This whole thing seems fishy to Jon but it’s not as if he can complain that she’s being civil for once.

She grins at him. “Do you like horses?”

“Yeah…sure.”

Daenerys sounds enthusiastic when she announces, “I’ll get my things and wait for you in the car.”

Jon has to understand what is going on. “Wait…did something happen today?”

Daenerys tilts her head to the side and Jon forces his gaze to her eyes and not to the exposed side of her neck, the creamy skin almost glowing in the light. “No, why?”

He blinks. “So nothing is different today?” _Your attitude, maybe?_

Daenerys furrows her brows, a little smile still dancing at the corner of her rosy lips. “No,” she answers once more, “I’m just in a really good mood. You coming?”

“Yes,” Jon answers, almost as if trapped in a trance.

She walks past him, carrying away a sweet scent of vanilla and sunflowers and something that is so distinctively her it’s impossible to smell on anyone else and Jon heavily _sighs_. He doesn’t know what is up exactly but he has a squeaky feeling at the pits of his stomach, something in his head screaming at him that something shady is going on.

This time Jon makes sure to inform Aerys about where they are going to avoid the incident of last time. The King peers up at Jon with a rather shocked expression. “Daenerys wants to take you to the ranch?” he demands.

“Apparently…yes.”

Aerys chuckles lowly, sounding taken aback. “Well, she just usually does not like company when going there so I’m surprised she wants to go there with you.” He shrugs it off nonchalantly, getting back to his paperwork, “but whatever. You two have fun. Keep an eye out on her, as always. Got a lot of work to do.”

Jon nods as he leaves, taking Aerys’ words in careful consideration. If Daenerys does not usually like company when going there then why on Earth would she want to be with him out of all people? _Voluntarily_?

If whatever the fuck _this_ is is only going to last a while then he might as well enjoy it before the spell breaks and she goes back to hating his guts.

***

It’s a beautiful place, just a few minutes away from the castle. Jon always thought this restricted location was some kind of construction site which never got turned into a final product but turns out there was a ranch here all along. Daenerys leads the way and Jon follows, amazed by the size and beauty of the place. The open field is vast and could fit at least five to seven houses. Leaves from big oak trees are rustling above them, the grass under their feet evenly cut and maintained.

“Is this open to the public?” Jon asks since he’s never seen anyone come here before.

Daenerys continues walking, the windy conditions causing her hair to fly in all directions. She looks younger with her hair down and so much prettier. Jon looks at the trees instead of entertaining these thoughts any longer. “No,” she replies, “my father made this for me.”

Jon laughs. “Wish I got gifts like this.”

He can’t see her face but can hear a little chuckle. Which surprises him once more, why is she being so nice all of a sudden? “We used to go to this public park where you could rent horses for the day and ride around but unfortunately when we’d go there we would have people and reporters following us all around and I could never properly enjoy a day alone with my dad.” She turns around to look at him, while still walking backwards. Her eyes are almost purely violet in day light which is pretty disorienting. “So, my father bought this land and built me my own better version of that park.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten. I was here all the time when I was younger. I visit less frequently now but I love this place all the same. It feels like my spot, you know? Where nobody and nothing else exists.”

Jon whistles under his breath. He doesn’t know a lot of ten-year-olds who receive such presents. But then again, he doesn’t know a lot of royal kids. “Why don’t you have something else built here now that you’re grown up?” he wonders.

Daenerys frowns. “Why would I do that? This was my father’s gift.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I don’t believe in exchanging gifts,” Daenerys says, “I’ve kept every single gift he has ever given me.”

Jon finds that hard to believe. Even _he_ has not kept all the gifts that people gave him when he was young. “Every single one of them?”

“Every single one,” she affirms.

“I mean if they were all things as expensive as a ranch then I would probably keep them too.”

Daenerys shakes her head. “I didn’t keep them because they were expensive,” she tells him, “I did because they came from him.”

Jon does not reply to that and decides to keep walking behind her until they arrive at the stable in the barn. And just as she had said, there are multiple horses here. The one that catches his eye, the peculiar horse among the black and brown ones, is the white one. The silver mane of the horse differing from its almost white skin. He’s seen white horses before but never one with literal platinum hair as shiny as this one.

“You have a silver-haired horse,” Jon says, in both amusement and amazement.

Daenerys smiles, knowing he is impressed. “Targaryens don’t do things halfway,” she says, both jokingly and proudly, “my father wanted the gift to be perfect. So he bought me Drogon. The most expensive horse in all of Westeros. She is literally the last living of her kind. And she apparently looks like me.”

Jon blinks. “Drogon?” he inquires curiously, “why that name?”

“Because I always wanted a dragon.”

Jon has to look away from the horse to Daenerys to make sure she is not joking but her face is serious as she gazes at the animal.

“You wanted a dragon?” Jon repeats, shaking his head. “What kind of wish is that?”

She shrugs. “The first Targaryens were believed to be dragon riders.”

Jon snorts. “Dragons don’t exist.”

Daenerys meets his eyes fiercely. “I believe they _existed_. Why don’t you?”

Is she being serious? “They’re mythical. There’s no scientific evidence.”

She huffs. “People believe in all sorts of Gods yet there’s no proof for that either.”

“That’s different.”

“How, though?” Daenerys asks challengingly. “What do we even know about the world? About what existed when we didn’t?” She scrunches her nose up, “your life must be really boring if you only limit your imaginations to things that have been ‘scientifically proven’.”

Jon does not know if he finds her thoughts crazy or if he wants to listen to her speak about dragons with that magical glint in her eyes the whole day. He settles on changing the subject. “So Drogon because you wanted a dragon, huh?”

“Yep. Isn’t she beautiful?” Daenerys asks.

Jon nods. “She is.”

Her eyes flicker to his. “Did you ever ride a horse?”

Jon falters. “No.”

“It’s never too late.”

Jon begins to object, “it’s fine, you can go along and I’ll just…wait around—”

“Or you could come with me.” Her lips lift in a smirk that looks troublesome, “are you scared of a little ride with me, Jon Snow?”

Jon does not show his surprise at her sultry voice, his name dripping from her mouth like honey, an almost mischievous and double meaning to her words. But his brain almost fucking short-circuits. Being nice is one thing but _this? _The flirtatious tone, the glint in her eyes and her hair softly whipping across her face.

“Since you don’t know how to ride,” she begins, “we should both get on Drogon.”

Jon hesitantly follows her inside the box stall. And then realises her words. “What? No. That would be—”

She gives him a look that shuts him up right away. “What will it be?”

He struggles for a word but finds none. Instead, he questions, “isn’t that bad? To have two people on a horse?”

“Drogon is strong and has been trained for that since she was young,” Daenerys says, “we’ll make it quick.”

Jon finds himself nodding, coming short of any other valid argument.

She smiles triumphantly. Jon could almost get used to her smile now. Almost. But for now, it still throws him off guard like splashes of cold water to the face. She hops on the horse first and makes it look so swift and easy Jon is dumbfounded. There is enough place for the both of them on the saddle but only barely.

Daenerys does not seem to notice that little problem. She looks down at Jon and raises an impatient eyebrow.

Jon climbs on the horse with little grace and Drogon awkwardly moves to the side at his lack of knowledge of how to get on horseback. Daenerys’ whole back is pressed up against his front. Jon has never felt more rigid in his life. He is trying his best to lean away from her yet if he leans more backward he will fall over. Perhaps that is better than the sudden itch to touch her hair, which looks so soft and smells so nice. “You good?” she asks and when she angles her head to him, a strand of hair brushes against his cheek and Jon almost doubles over at the feeling.

“Yes,” he answers tersely, “all good.”

“You’ll have to hold onto me,” she murmurs, “or you’ll fall off.”

Jon looks down at his fingers, both hands gripping his knees tightly for support. “No, it’s fine.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t be dumb, you will fall.”

Jon reluctantly lifts his hands up from his thighs and rests them on Daenerys’ waist. It feels almost funny to hold onto her, he thinks silently, since she is so much smaller than he is, her frame little and almost _brittle_ compared to his. He keeps his hands lightly on her sides, only for balance, making sure he is not holding her too hard…or too inappropriately.

Jon jerks in shock when he feels her palms on his knees. “You should let loose,” she says, her voice carried away by the soft winds, “you’re tightening your knees against her. Loosen up.” It must be intentional, the way her fingers have glided their way off of his knees after proving her point. It must be. Or he is imagining way too much of this.

He swallows when she demands, “ready?”

“Yes,” he answers. Unconvincingly.

They only gallop for a few seconds – maybe a minute or two maximum. But it feels like an eternity, holding onto her, her skin warm through the rather thin shift that covers it. And at every little movement, he finds her body pressing more into his, the sway of her hair and perfume dancing around him, enveloping him and blinding all his other senses to anything that isn’t Daenerys. He tries not to think too much of how she is quite literally consuming his entire mind, space and body. And he almost jumps off the animal when they halt, eagerly getting away from her.

She climbs down with all her precision. Jon looks at her as she caresses Drogon, the horse making pleased noises and moving her head from side to side. _It’s unfair_, Jon suddenly thinks, _for someone to look this beautiful. Thoroughly unfair. _

It’s almost as if she has read his mind because when she looks at him, something about her deep irises tells Jon that she knows exactly what went through his mind during that ride. And she seems almost proud of it. “Just like riding a dragon, right?” she asks, her entire face lighting up with a smile that makes him feel as dizzy as when he was on top of her horse.

“Right,” Jon mutters under his breath.

***

Jon Snow is either really honourable or not into women. Or maybe Daenerys has just gotten rusty at flirting and seducing. But whatever the reason might be, her little expedition with him at the stable was not as successful as she had thought it would be. Were he any other man, Daenerys is certain that he would have tried something. _Anything_. Scoop her in his arms for a daring kiss like in one of those movies, maybe. The scenery was perfect for it. But Jon did not even want to touch her when it was necessary, let alone in other ways.

But she has seen certain things, she has noticed his eyes lingering on her a moment too long countless of times. And she likes it. She plans on doubling the efforts to make him crack.

“I’d really like to see Ghost,” she tells him on the way back.

Jon agrees to take her to his house before heading back to the castle. Daenerys forgets all about what she was doing when she sees Ghost. The dog jumps in her arms as always and Dany giggles, arms wrapped around the fluffy dog as he laps at her face like a human candy. “Calm down, buddy,” she manages.

“I think he loves you way more than he’ll ever love me,” Jon mumbles jokingly as he closes the door behind them.

“Obviously,” Daenerys replies and Ghost finally gets down, still going in circles around her excitedly.

“Do you want something…to drink? Or anything?”

Daenerys glances at Jon and sees his obvious discomfort. He still is not used to the idea of her being in his house, she realises. And this choice of clothing did its magic since Jon has not properly looked at her during the whole morning, always quickly averting his gaze. She hides a smile. Taunting him further would be _too_ amusing to pass on. “Show me where you fight,” she requests.

Jon’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets. “I’m sorry?”

“I said,” she slowly says, “show me where you fight. Don’t you have a training place?”

“It’s just my basement.”

“Lead the way.”

Jon shakes his head. “Why do you want to see that?”

“Jon, if you’re going to my bodyguard and stay with me the whole day, basically learning all about my life and daily habits and places I like then I think it’s only fair I get to see a bit of your life as well,” Daenerys tells him, “I just feel like that would make trust easier between us. And fighting is a big part of your life, isn’t it?”

Jon nods thoughtfully. “The biggest.”

She smiles. “What are you waiting for?”

Jon seems sheepish as he begins to walk away and Daenerys follows him with Ghost trailing behind.

“I’m just telling you in advance, this place is a mess,” he warns.

Daenerys rolls her eyes behind him and says nothing.

But turns out – it is a mess.

He was not exaggerating. The door is blocked by all the things lying down here and there. Shoes and a pile of clothes and tools and whatnot. This place looks like a dumpster, she can barely advance a few steps before colliding with an object.

“How do you even train here?” Daenerys asks, her mask of seduction and teasing falling away at the sight of this cramped space he uses for training.

“Well it’s quiet and all I need,” Jon answers, shrugging.

The only thing that makes this place look remotely like somewhere utilised to train for fighting is the punching bag which looks like it is at least a hundred years old. Daenerys cannot believe that Jon Snow – one of the best fighters in Westeros – trains in this hellhole.

“I never really bring people here, so, uh, sorry.”

Daenerys looks at him amusedly. He looks away immediately, like he has been doing so far today.

She raises an eyebrow. “Never brought a girlfriend here?” she asks.

Jon seems taken aback. “I’m sorry—what—I—no.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

She smirks. “Have a girlfriend?”

The thing about Jon Snow is that he is not a shy man. Even if he is usually awkward when it comes to her, Jon is confident. He holds it in his every bone. That defiance that she absolutely cannot stand. He is not one to cower from her gaze when they argue, instead, he will fuel her anger and hold her eyes with equal amounts of resistance. And even if he speaks very little, he rarely stutters or says stupid things.

Jon Snow is self-assured.

Except today.

Which means that somewhere, somehow, she must be doing something right. Maybe the provocative dress worked. Or her hair – which is often said to be her most attractive feature. Or maybe she is not so bad at flirting, after all. Because right now, he is fidgeting in place, his eyes not knowing where to land, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides. He is uneasy. Because of her. And oh, how she loves that.

He clenches his jaw. “I…no. I don’t.”

She takes a step forward. He would usually not budge but now, he takes a cautious step back. Daenerys almost breaks character and laughs at how uncomfortable he is acting but she does not want this to end _yet_. “Why not?” she demands in a quiet voice.

Jon narrows his eyes. He knows something is up. “What kind of question is that?”

“I don’t know,” she murmurs, advancing more. Jon is paralleling her moves, moving away from her. “You’re a handsome man,” she begins and sees him blink quickly, “you’re respectful,” she continues and when Jon’s back is against the wall, she knows it’s her time to play. She raises both of her hands and places them on his chest daringly, freezing Jon entirely. “And you know how to fight,” she adds, “I don’t see why someone like you wouldn’t have a beautiful girl’s attention.”

“I don’t believe that is an appropriate conversation for us to have,” Jon says, his voice rough and low.

“Why? I’m just trying to get to know my bodyguard here,” she innocently informs him, “plus...for more security, I think you should teach me how to fight,” Daenerys leans up to suggestively whisper, “among other things.”

Jon reaches his last thread of patience when Daenerys moves her hands to his shoulders, still smiling at him. His hands move so quick she finally understands why they call him a tactical fighter. One second he is looking at her questioningly and the next she finds herself in his previous position, pinned against the wall. She gasps in surprise, amazed by how swiftly he grabbed onto her waist and turned them around.

Daenerys almost thinks he has snapped out of his restraint and mindful control and is just going to do something completely irrational, like kiss her or something. And this would have been the end of her game. She told herself that if he tried anything inappropriate, she would put an end to all of that and finally have him at a weak point where she needed him.

_But_ instead, Daenerys finds herself deliciously thrilled, a spark running down her body at the thought of him losing control like this. The thought is fleeting and quick but for that second, she wishes he’d do that irrational thing already. And she would not have even stopped him if he’d kissed her. Gods, she might’ve done something dumb on her part as well—like kiss him back.

But she was wrong all along. Jon did not really lose control, if anything, he has regained all of it. His hands are pressing her hips against the wall, far from his. His touch is not harsh or painful but strong nonetheless and Daenerys hates not having the upper hand anymore so she struggles to free herself.

When Jon’s head dips low, Daenerys stops moving. She wants to stop him yet all she does is watch him and another part of her brain seems to have stopped functioning altogether.

“I know what you’re doing,” he growls out.

Daenerys blinks in surprise. Here she thought Jon was going to kiss her yet that seems to be the last thing on his mind. His eyes are dark but is that anger or lust? Or both? Dany swallows, playing dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she calmly states, “and you have no right to touch me or—”

“And you don’t either.”

She clamps her mouth shut.

Jon shakes his head to himself. “This whole morning…you being nice…and now _this_. I’m not stupid, is this some sick thing you came up with to get me fired?”

Daenerys raises an eyebrow. Useless to keep denying it. “Took you long enough,” she tells him.

He frowns at her. “So, that’s it? This was really your plan?”

Daenerys lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

Jon lets go of her although he makes no move to back off, scowling at Daenerys. “What was the point? You thought by having sex with me you’d—”

“Sex with you?” She laughs. “That was never part of the plan.”

His jaw tightens. “Then what was?” He shakes his head once again, as if trying to understand her. “You really thought that you could fool me with some fake smiles and _whatever_ ‘seduction’ tricks you had up your sleeve?”

Daenerys walks away from him, feeling hot all of a sudden. She crosses her arms over her chest. “Well, you clearly would not give in so I had to try something else.”

He humourlessly chuckles. “Has this worked on other men before?”

Daenerys glares at him. “Wouldn’t you want to know?” she retorts.

He eyes her. “No, I wouldn’t. I just think it’s sad.”

Now it’s Daenerys’ turn to frown. “What is?”

“That you’re ready to act so desperate just because you can’t accept the fact that you won’t always get what you want.”

“Maybe you’re forgetting that I am a princess,” she states with an arrogant jut of her chin, “I _always_ get what I want.”

“No. You don’t. That’s the point! This is real life. And that angers you,” Jon tells her slowly. “You think the world just revolves around things that _you_ can control, that things have to be in a certain way—”

“You’re talking to _me_ about control?” she snaps, “Everything about my life is controlled. Do you honestly blame me for wanting to have the liberty to choose, sometimes?”

“Well, there are certain things you can’t choose!” he argues back, “have you considered that I’m not a big fan of this job either? But I’ve accepted it and moved on while you keep being immature about it.”

“Why the hell are you even in this for? Money? I’ll sign you a check, higher than what my father’s willing to give you.”

Jon scoffs, running a hand through his hair in frustration, the curls falling haphazardly over his face. “Goddammit, do you think that’s all that matters in the world? Money? Fame?”

Daenerys looks away, sighing tiredly.

“Your father has been more of a father to me than anyone else in my life,” Jon continues, his voice calmer now yet not less angry, “I respect him more than anyone else in my life. I swore that I would do anything for him – anything to repay the man that changed my life. That is the sole reason I’m doing this and trust me you can’t _buy_ me out of this.”

“If you love my father so much,” Daenerys says, “then why lie to him?”

His eyes flash. “What?”

She decides to just go in, they’re already fighting anyway. “I had Varys do a check on you.”

She didn’t think it was possible but he looks even more furious with her. “Tell me you’re kidding,” he utters, voice dark.

Daenerys feels a twinge of shame but she stands her ground. “Four years ago, you were arrested. I clearly remember my father saying he hadn’t heard from you in a while but when you were back, you said you were on vacation.”

Jon takes a step closer to her. “What were you planning to do with this? Blackmail me?”

“I’m merely asking a question.”

Soon, he is close enough that she can see the grey freckles in his darkened eyes as clear as daylight. There is something intimidating about him, not because he looks menacing to her, but because he looks so disappointed in her that it makes her feel sick in a way. Jon exhales, “Go ahead. Tell your father about it. If I have to explain myself to someone, it’ll be him. Not you.”

She grits her teeth, anger curling in her chest. “I _will_ tell him about it.”

His breath is hot on her face, his mouth so close to her. He speaks through clenched teeth, each word laced with venom. “You know what? Every time I think maybe I’ve judged you too fast you just never fail to bring me back to my initial opinion.”

Daenerys finds nothing to say, dumbstruck and caught in the moment. How did her little harmless game turn into this mess? He stares at her for a second longer before he walks out, feed thudding.

“You don’t know me!” she shouts feebly at no one in particular.

Ghost – who was sat down in the corner, moving his head between the two of them during this argument, like an innocent child caught in his parents’ squabble – stares at Daenerys for a second more and walks out, following Jon instead of staying with her.

***

After two cancellations and tens of missed calls, Jon and Ygritte finally end up on their date.

He goes to pick her up at the address she texted him and while he waits for her in his car, Jon takes a good, lengthy look at himself in the mirror. He tried to look slightly more presentable than usual tonight, after all, it has been so long since he’s taken a woman out. He even took an old razor from the bathroom and trimmed the excess of hair on his face so he looked less like a caveman for once (something Gendry often called him) and even bothered to slick his hair back into a bun, hoping it wouldn’t fall right out as it always did when he fought. But tonight was not for such strenuous activities, well, at least depending on how the night would end. He tells himself that he deserves this. He works hard and gods know that lately, he’s been working _extra _hard for—

No.

No negative thoughts for the night.

Especially not negative thoughts of a _certain_ person with silver hair.

His date comes out a few seconds later. Ygritte closes her front door and Jon takes a moment to check whether or not he should be feeling underdressed. Thankfully, she is wearing a red cocktail dress which seems pretty fitting for the black button-up he chose. A nervous sensation swims in his stomach as he watches her walk to his car, a smile playing at her thin lips. They don’t really know each other_,__ at all_, save from flirtatious messages exchanged here and there.

She opens the door to the passenger seat and Jon smiles welcomingly at her. Her hair is down, red and lovely and framing her sharp face perfectly.

“Finally, huh?” Ygritte’s voice is playful. She is smiling at him, red lips parted. “This took us quite some time.”

“I’m sorry for all the trouble,” Jon says earnestly, “I didn’t expect these past weeks would have been so busy.” _I did not expect to become an obnoxious princess’ bodyguard_, Jon mentally corrects himself.

Ygritte does not look angry. “It’s fine,” she assures him.

“So, does dinner sound nice to you?” he asks.

“Terrific. I’m starving.”

The hesitation is still between them, Jon does not really know how to approach her and Ygritte is rather shy. Most of their conversations are short and light, barely lasting more than a few words. Jon tells himself that it’s fine, that it’s going to flow more naturally as time passes. And no matter what, he is going to have a great night. Without interruptions, this time.

***

“Daenerys!”

Dany spins around to find a familiar face – but she can’t quite remember who that is. The brown-haired girl advances toward her with a grin, a glass in hand. “Hi,” she says loudly, but her voice is still faint over the music. “I’m so happy to see you, it’s been so long!”

Daenerys is smiling back although still struggling to recognise this person. The problem with private parties she organises is that people tend to come up to speak to her, people she rarely remembers. She randomly invites acquaintances, some of whose faces have blurred in her mind. Like this one. The short girl’s vibrant hazel eyes seem so familiar yet Daenerys cannot put her finger on who this round face belongs to!

“You do remember me, right?” The girl asks as if reading Daenerys’ mind. “Our psychology class together at uni?”

“Oh, right!” Daenerys exclaims, finally identifying Rose. “How’re you?”

She chuckles. “Good. I’m so happy you thought of me. I was surprised, really.”

Daenerys almost feels bad for not having immediately recognised her. The only people she did thoroughly check were the ones on the list she made with Margaery and Sansa, close friends she absolutely wanted to see tonight. And Rose was not one of them. But she won’t say that out loud. Instead, the silver-haired girl nods excitedly. “Happy you could make it,” Dany tells her. “You have fun, I’ll see you in a moment. I’ll go get a drink.”

Daenerys slides her way to the bar, greeting more friends on the way. As she approaches the bartender, she catches the eye of one of her bodyguards at the door. Although she has rented this place for the night, her father insisted that she should have at least two men with her – just in case. She decided on Sandor Clegane and another one whose name she doesn’t quite remember. But Sandor is more than enough protection. However, they both look out of their element in the compact, loud and bright room.

“Can I have one more cocktail, please?” Daenerys demands, hopping on a stool as she waits.

She looks around, hoping to spot Margaery or Sansa. The place is so big that she has not seen them at all tonight. The flashing disco lights are not helping, preventing Daenerys from fully inspecting people’s faces, only catching quick glances before the blinding brightness makes her eyes burn. She hums along to the music as she waits for her drink but upon seeing Robb Stark moving to where she is, she begins to smile.

“Look who decided to show up,” she says teasingly, “a complete stranger now, it seems. I almost thought you forgot me.”

Robb looks expensively handsome, as always, prettily adorned in a white dress shirt, the sleeves pulled up, his signature black watch on his right wrist. His eyes glimmer as he walks up to her, his lips tilted up in a smile. “A stranger?” he questions and leans in to kiss her on the cheek as a greeting, his lips lingering there to directly speak into her ear, “who are you kidding? I wouldn’t forget you even if I tried to.”

Daenerys watches him in amusement as he pulls away and holds his hand out to her and says, “come.”

Dany shakes her head. “No. I’m good.”

“Don’t be like this. You’ve missed my birthday party, you owe me a dance,” he tells her.

Her refusal barely lasts a few more seconds as he tugs on her hand, pouting his lower lip jokingly at her. Shaking her head and rolling her eyes, Daenerys ends up with him on the dancefloor despite her previous protests.

Robb rests his hands lightly on her hips and they miss almost every beat of the music but neither seems to care, at least they are having fun with each other after so long, laughing and talking.

“Where did you even disappear off to?” Daenerys asks, wrapping her arms around his neck as a slow song comes on.

Robb sighs. “You know how my father gets when the elections approach.”

She hums, recognising the pained look on his face. “How’s the campaign going so far?”

Robb looks rather troubled about the matter. “The Martells aren’t playing this time. I’ve heard all about Oberyn’s campaign the public’s support.”

“Ned has always won,” Daenerys states surely. “I doubt everyone’s going to turn their backs on him this time around.”

“That’s the thing about politics. Everyone can backstab you if it suits them,” Robb tells her, twirling her and bringing her body closer than before with a grin, arms locked around her waist, “but let’s not think about this right now. Tell me about you.”

“What about me?”

“Any new projects? I’ve heard about the campaign for the rape victims.” Robb’s smile is less flirty and more honest now. “I’m proud of you, Dany. You’ve accomplished so much and helped so many, I knew you were special.”

Daenerys shakes her head humbly. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” he says sincerely, “you’re incredible.”

“Oh, come on.”

“What?” He smiles. “I’m being honest. I’m sure everyone thinks the same.”

Daenerys looks away from his kind eyes. In her mind, she hears other words. Loud, angry words spat at her face_. __Y__ou know what? Every time I think maybe I’ve judged you too __fast__ you just never fail to bring me back to my initial opinion._ She looks back at Robb, reminding herself that she is here to have fun with the people she loves. People whose opinions matter to her. Robb is one of those people. “Thank you,” she mumbles.

“I wish we were in a better place to catch up,” Robb says, his mouth next to her ear when he speaks. “I have so much to tell you.”

“Dinner someday?” Daenerys suggests.

Robb does not hesitate. “Sure thing. I’ve been meaning to ask you the same but….”

She quirks a brow. “But?” Dany presses.

“I don’t know.” He nervously chuckles, eyes skipping hers. “Just thought maybe you had someone in your life…or something.”

Dany laughs too. “What? No, I don’t. And even if I did, we’re still friends, right? Friends have dinner all the time.”

“Friends,” he says, cringing playfully at her and placing a hand over his heart. “That hurt.”

Although spoken in jest, Daenerys can’t turn a blind eye to what Sansa has been telling her all this time now: Robb obviously likes her—more than just a friend. Slightly embarrassed, she is about to reply and hopefully find a loophole when she gets literally dragged away from Robb’s arms by another pair of arms around her neck. She is startled but sighs in relief when she looks back and sees Sansa.

“Stop annoying my best friend,” Sansa tells her brother, mockingly jutting her tongue out at him. “Get over it, she doesn’t like you.”

Robb rolls his eyes. “Hello to you too sister.”

Daenerys smiles at Robb apologetically. “Sorry,” she says, “we’ll catch up later, yeah?”

Robb nods and smiles at Daenerys. “Of course. I’ll call you for the dinner, alright? This week or the next?”

“This week’s not good.”

“Right,” Robb answers with a heavy sigh, “elections. We’ll see after that.”

Dany smiles. “Alright. See you.”

Robb playfully nudges Sansa as he departs.

“Dinner,” Sansa muses, arms still around Daenerys. “Are you two gonna fuck then?”

Daenerys disentangles herself from her friend and shakes her head. “You’re crazy.” Because she is drunk. Sansa is always more relaxed when intoxicated. As she is right now, swaying mindlessly with her hair a giant, red mess around her face.

“Where’s Margaery?” Daenerys asks, guiding her friend’s drunken self to the bar so they can speak better.

“I’ve been looking for her,” Sansa whines. “I’m tired. My feet hurt.” She looks down at her heels with a grunt. “Gods, how do you even walk in those? I’m never burrowing your shit again.”

Just then Daenerys localises Margaery who wobbles her way to them, having had way more drinks than both Sansa and Dany combined. Her eyes are hazy and one of her earrings is missing. “Baby!” Margaery slurs excitedly upon seeing her girlfriend.

Sansa giggles and opens her arms invitingly, Margaery almost collapsing onto her. “Fucking hell, I feel dead,” she groans and smiles at Daenerys. “I love your parties, _Danyyyy_.”

Daenerys snatches the glass of whiskey away from her. “Enough for tonight,” she says warningly. When both of her friends are this drunk, she has to be the mediator. Because if she joins in too then it will turn out to be a complete turmoil – and she is speaking from experience. A lot of it.

“Fine,” Margaery says, stretching the word out and burying her head in Sansa’s hair who is hugging her in an awkward position. “You look so pretty tonight,” Margaery whispers to Sansa, kissing her on the cheek softly.

Daenerys’ eyes dart around the room quickly. As much as she wishes for her best friends to be able to be openly affectionate, she knows Sansa would have flipped were she sober. There are too many people who know her here. Too many people who know Ned, too many sneaky eyes and too many cameras. She regretfully says, “guys…we’re in public.”

She hates having to do that. Every time she has to break them apart, Daenerys feels horrible. She wants them to be able to not give a fuck and kiss and hold hands and do things all couples do. But Sansa is not ready yet. And she accepts that.

“Oh, right,” Sansa mutters and gently pushes Margaery away who sighs.

“There’s a hotel just a block away,” Daenerys says, in hopes of lightening the mood and to avoid arguments between the two.

“You sure?” Margaery asks, looking at Daenerys. “We don’t want to leave you.”

Dany waves them off. “I’ll be fine! You two should go. Plus, I’ll probably leave soon. I’m tired.”

“Are you sure?” Sansa asks although her eyes are glittering with eagerness.

“Of course. Go!” Daenerys insists, shoving them away jokingly.

The two girls look at her for a last time before exiting together. Daenerys watches them leave contentedly. Even if they can’t do anything publicly yet, at least they have each other. Once alone, Daenerys decides to take a trip to the bathroom to check on her most-likely ruined makeup.

However, she is stopped at the door by Sandor. “Where you off to?” he asks gravely.

Daenerys rolls her eyes. “Just the bathroom,” she answers. “I’ll be back in like two seconds.”

Sandor nods. “Fine. But be quick.”

Daenerys nods before walking past him. The music is now a background sound as she gets further away from the club, making her way through corridors and hallways and trying to figure out where to find a bathroom in this building. To make things worse, the further away she gets, the darker the place is becoming, moonlight being her only source of brightness through large windows. Daenerys frowns. There is no way she has not been able to find one bathroom yet. She must have missed it. As she begins to trace her way back out of a corridor, a creaking sound behind her startles Dany. She sees nothing but a long and darkened hallway. “Hello,” she says, hoping that there is someone around to help her.

_I’m just__ being paranoid._ Shaking her head, she continues her quest for the damned bathroom. Countless doors, staircases and more hallways. She can barely hear the beats of the music now, the sounds melting into nothingness. She can hear leaves rustling outside through the open windows, the air chilly.

Daenerys has this feeling again. Of being watched. Followed. She convinces herself that she is being delusional, yet her heartbeat has slightly increased.

She hears something. Footsteps. She whips around quickly, making sure to not give the source of the sound a chance to move away. Her breath hitches in her throat at the sight of a silhouette far down the hallway, barely visible, barely distinguishable.

Her breathing quickens. “Who is this?” she demands, her voice high and strong, covering up her fright.

The figure moves. But it’s not walking. It’s running. Sprinting at her. She reacts almost immediately, her heart almost jumping out of her throat as she turns and runs.

The adrenaline helps. She has never run so fast in her life but now, her legs seem to have a mind of their own, her steps large and so quick she barely knows what she is doing or where she is going. She feels like she is going to fall but she can’t stop, still hearing the person behind her. She turns to a door, enters a room, leaves another. Running in circles to escape. Daenerys’ ears are ringing, she does not care to look back to see if the person is still there or not. She is not thinking straight.

When she spots the bathroom, she almost leaps to the door and then takes a glance behind her. Nobody is there. For now. She goes inside without second thought and prays that she finds someone else inside. Daenerys almost cries in horror when she finds that she is alone in an even darker, smaller room. She takes in deep breaths, a sob breaking free, her hands immediately clasping over her mouth to muffle the sound. _Don’t cry. Don’t make a noise._

She steps into a stall, one in the middle, and shuts the door behind her. Sitting up on the toilet, Daenerys shakily takes her phone out. Her heart is pounding against her chest, as if it’ll rip through her skin and fall out at any instant. First person she thinks of is Sansa. She doesn’t know why but her thumb presses on her friend’s name quickly. No answer. Margaery. No answer either. Daenerys covers her mouth with her hand, tears stinging the back of her eyes. She is the one who told them to go—that she wouldn’t need them. She goes to Robb’s contact but it’s fruitless, she tries so many people at the party but she knows her efforts will be useless due to the music. She tries Clegane as well but she should have known not to, since the old man detests using any type of technology.

She does not know what to do. In the back of her mind, a voice is telling her to call Aerys. Screaming at her to do so. But what does she say? How _will_ she explain this? Her father is already unwell lately and this will be too sudden, too much to handle.

But she will have to call him if she has no choice.

And she has no choice, she realises as she scrolls through her contacts. Absolutely no fucking choice.

Except.

_Jon Snow._

She hesitates. His house is closer. But they left on horrible terms, haven’t spoken to each other since their last interaction. And she has too much pride but cursing under her breath, she gives up. He is her bodyguard, after all. Off duty or not. And she is too scared to care about pride right now.

As if this is her lucky day, out of everyone she has called so far, Jon Snow is the only one to pick up, almost immediately. Daenerys almost weeps in joy.

“Hello?”

“Hey! This is Daenerys,” she stammers.

“Yes I know. I have your number saved, you know, but tonight I’m—”

“Where are you?” she hurriedly whispers, leaning her ear against the door to listen for anyone coming.

Jon pauses. “Is…everything alright? You sound—”

“Jon! Where are you?” she asks again, practically hissing the words out through chattering teeth, “I-I’m – in a – there’s someone –” She tries to find more coherency to her thoughts and manages, “I’m at a party and someone’s following me. I-I think someone’s after me. I think it’s Viserys. I – I don’t know.”

“What?” Jon whisper-yells. “Are you serious? Where _are_ you?”

She struggles for the name. “Uh…it’s…The Wall? It’s a building, south-east of—”

“I know where that is. Gods, are you alright?”

Pathetically, a loud sob erupts from her mouth. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m in a bathroom.”

“Is he there?”

“No. He’s not found me yet. I’m scared. I’ve tried calling everyone, I don’t know where to go. Should I try to go out? Because I haven’t heard any—”

“No!” His tone is firm. Daenerys hears shuffling on the other line and Jon muttering under his breath. He finally says, “stay where you are. Lock yourself inside. I’m coming.”

Daenerys nods, holding back another pitiful sob. “Okay.”

“I’ll be there,” Jon says, almost reassuringly, before the line goes dead.

Daenerys still dials Sansa and Margaery, switching between the two after every call. They are the closest to this building. As time passes, she grows more and more paranoid, knowing she will be trapped in here with a potential killer if she doesn’t get up and take a chance and _leave_.

She should have taken those damned heels off before she got back up as the moment she steps out of the bathroom, as carefully as she can, her trembling legs still give out and she trips, landing down with a flow of sharp pain down her ankle. _Great_, she thinks as she gets up and realises that she can barely walk anymore with her right foot strained, every amount of pressure hurting her. She keeps one shoe in her hand while she drops the other on the ground. The heel is pointed enough to hurt. She does not know how she’ll use that to defend herself but it feels safer to hold onto something than be empty-handed.

She manages to get around slowly, her breathing quick and heavy. Her eyes are scanning around as she moves. She is following the music, knowing this will indicate whether she is closer to the party or not. But the halls look just like each other and she finds herself tiptoeing around aimlessly.

Realising that she is completely lost and that moving is hurting too much, her jaw clenched as the dull ache spreads up her leg, Daenerys opens the door to a storage area and crouches down on the floor, back pressed to the wall. Her cheeks are warm with tears as she hides in the darkness. Praying for this to be over.

Praying for Jon to come.

***

Jon does not know why he picked up. He was in the middle of a date, after all, with a beautiful woman in front of him, food on his plate and a candle to his right. Ygritte was openly hitting on him – more confident as the wine loosened them. Yet, when his eyes landed on his phone and Daenerys’ name flashed – it was almost an instinct. Something beyond common sense drove him to answer. Something beyond his control.

“I’m really sorry,” he says thoughtlessly to Ygritte as he gets up hurriedly, picking up his keys and jacket. “I really am.” But he isn’t really, his mind only half-occupied with how much of a terrible date he is.

“You’re a busy man,” Ygritte replies dryly.

He knows this time she won’t be giving him another chance.

And he hardly cares.

Jon leaves money on the table and sprints out, smiling apologetically to her, his goal clear in his mind. The Wall is only a ten-minute drive away from the restaurant. It would have taken longer from his house. Jon supposes things do occur for a reason after all.

He is thoughtless as he drives. He blocks everything out. No over-thinking_. She is fine. She will be fine._ Aerys’ face pops up in Jon’s head and he accelerates as he thinks of the old man’s words, requesting for him to protect his daughter.

Reaching the destination turns out to be fairly easy but getting inside is something else entirely.

“This is a private party,” the man at the door declares. “Move. Or show your invite.”

“Daenerys is—” Jon takes in a calming breath, realising that it is pointless to argue. If whoever this person after Daenerys was able to get inside, then this man must be a shitty guard anyway. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” Jon says and looks down at his nametag, “Gerald, so I’m sorry for this.”

“Wha—”

His fist collides with the Gerald’s jaw without a moment of consideration. The man was obviously not expecting a fight tonight. Jon balls his fist as he watches him fall and get up quickly, charging at Jon with a growl. Jon professionally dodges his weak punches and brings his knee up in a jerk to his crotch, the obviously poorly trained security guard doubling over in pain. Jon apologises to him once more before rushing in through the front door.

He _has_ to hurry. One, because he is pretty sure Gerald is going to storm inside at any instant now and two, Daenerys is still in there. With Viserys. Or someone else.

Jon does not bother to check at the party. If she was in there, she would not have been in danger. So he immediately knows she is somewhere else in this huge place, _alone_. He starts calling out her name, either waiting for a response or to scare the potential killer away.

After countless sets of stairs and opening numerous doors – some of which he fails at opening because of the locks, Jon begins to feel frightened. The thoughts he was previously blocking out resurface at full speed. His mind goes to the scary possibility of Daenerys already hurt…or worse.

The scenarios cause him to become fiercer in his search for the princess, helplessly trying to locate her. Unharmed, if possible. Jon begins to give up and thinks about heading to the party to get more help. He knows this will cause terror to spread – the princess of Westeros disappearing in here with a possible murderer. But he has no other choice, does he?

And then Jon sees him.

At first, he thinks it’s just a random man. But he seems to be searching for something too. Carefully looking around. And the black hoodie over his head gives something away. Jon approaches him subtly and when the guy sees Jon, he falters.

“Who are you?” Jon asks.

He blinks. “Janitor,” he answers, head down.

Jon readies himself, his fingers twitching impatiently. “Can you show me the way to the restroom then?”

The man nods slowly. “It’s…there!” He attempts to reach in his pocket but Jon has already calculated any chance of escapade way before that.

Instead of successfully reaching for a possible weapon which Jon assumes is in his pocket, the man gets shoved against the wall by Jon who immediately grips him by the neck, other hand shoving down the pocket he was reaching for. A knife.

“Tell me one good reason why I should not cut your throat right now,” Jon growls, replacing his hand by the blade, pressing the man further into the wall using both hands now.

“I…only did…it for money,” the guy chokes out, “please…I have a family…I’m sorry…please.”

“_Who_ sent you?” Jon asks through gritted teeth.

The man does not answer.

Jon presses the knife harder into the skin of his throat until a prickle of blood runs down, the man gasping in surprise. “V-Viserys. I swear, I don’t know anything else. I – I was only paid to kill her. I don’t know anything else. Please let me go. I don’t know anything, I’ve never done this in my life. And I – I have not even been able to get my hands on her.”

Jon wants to press further. A dark, unbidden thought of hurting this man clouds up his mind. And he would have succumbed to it but the knowledge of Daenerys being somewhere in this building, probably scared to death, diverges his mind from this desire. He lets go of the guy and as soon as he does, the man is running for his life.

He wants to follow him but Daenerys is his priority for the moment.

Jon calls her right away.

“Yes?” Her voice is little, her breaths harsh against his ear.

“I’m here. Where are you? I’ve dealt with it. Tell me where you are, I’ll come get you.”

“I’m in…a…storeroom.”

Daenerys sounds awful, her voice croaked. Jon exhales. “It’s fine. Don’t move, I’ll come instead.”

He finds her after a bit more than ten minutes. Sitting on the ground in a dark room. Jon switches the light on and lets his eyes move down to the princess. Her silver hair is a mess on her head, her knees curled up to her chest, her body shaking.

Jon cannot identify the emotion that goes down his body at the sight of her like this. He feels something dark and hot curl up to his throat and winding around his heart, almost clenching the life out of it. He wants to hit something, _someone_.

When she looks up, Jon sees her ruined makeup and swollen eyes. “Jon,” she says in recognition, his name a breathy whisper on her lips.

He crouches down to her, extending his arm.

She is breathing quickly. Too quickly. Heavy pants of breaths. Jon drops his hand and scoots closer to her, “hey…are you okay?” he softly inquires.

“I can’t,” she struggles to speak, “I can’t breathe.”

Jon inhales sharply. “You’re having a panic attack,” he decides.

Daenerys looks at him with wide eyes, her mouth agape.

“You have to slow down your breathing,” Jon instructs.

“I can’t,” Daenerys says, the words carried away with a gasp.

Jon curses under his breath. He does not know much about such attacks either. But he does know that it must be because of what just occurred – or what might have happened. A reaction of fear. He needs to calm her down. He doesn’t think twice before taking her hands into his firmly, her fingers shaky and cold in his palms. Daenerys looks down at their intertwined hands questioningly. Jon doesn’t care if she is probably going to curse him out later. “You’re fine,” he tells her slowly, “look at me. You’re okay. He’s not here anymore, nobody’s going to hurt you. I’m here.”

Daenerys’ glossy eyes dart between his, her chest still heaving rapidly. Jon runs his thumb over the back of her hand, holding her gaze. “It’s alright,” he says quietly, “close your eyes and focus on your breathing. Try to slow it down with deep breaths.”

Daenerys obliges compliantly, her eyelids dropping over her eyes as she attempts to calm down her erratic intakes and outtakes of oxygen. She has difficulty in controlling it, he sees, but she still tries. He encourages her by swipes of his thumb against her soft skin, squeezing her hand ever so lightly to assure her that he was right there. The hiccups in her breaths fade slowly with time until she is inhaling and exhaling normally, at last. Her eyes snap open to meet his. “Thank you,” she breathes out.

Jon nods, a bit speechless as well.

“Who was it?” she asks, still visibly disturbed.

“Viserys sent him,” Jon answers, “a random man who just wanted money.”

Daenerys lets out a humourless chuckle. “He couldn’t even bother to hire a _skilled_ killer for his cousin? Wow.”

Jon does not share her dark humour. He is still so enraged. Aerys would have been devastated if anything happened to Daenerys. Jon cannot even begin to imagine how he would have felt if he didn’t get here on time.

“Thank you, Jon,” Daenerys says, her voice low and timid. “I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t come.”

“It is my job after all,” Jon answers, attempting a weak joke.

She nods. And looks down. At their hands.

When Jon follows her gaze, he realises that he is still grasping on her hands tightly, his thumb still grazing her skin unconsciously. He removes his hands quickly and clears the sudden dryness in his throat.

Jon gets up, ready to leave. But Daenerys stays down.

Her cheeks are still pink from crying and her hair is still in shambles when she peers up at him and slowly says, “I’ve also hurt my foot. Can you help me up?”

Jon blinks. “Sure,” he says and holds her hands again to aid her in standing up.

She is much shorter without heels and she stumbles backward before finding her correct stance. Jon slips an arm around her waist to hold her and looks down at her right hand with a frown. “Why did you keep a shoe?” he demands.

“To defend myself,” she answers as if it is obvious.

“With a shoe?” Jon asks, failing to hide the hint of amusement in his tone.

“I don’t know! I’m not a professional at escaping killers,” Daenerys huffs.

Jon chuckles in amusement and helps her walk out. Daenerys continues hissing in pain occasionally, leaning onto Jon’s shoulder for support.

She insists that she does not want to go back to the party, that she wants to be out of here as quickly as possible so she has the man who was guarding the front door open a back door so they can get out without being noticed. Gerald – whom Jon had previously beaten up – glares at Jon silently. Jon smiles at him apologetically as they make their way out, Daenerys sighing once in the open air.

Her grip on Jon is firm, an arm wrapped around his waist and his own around her shoulder. “Let’s take you home,” Jon tells her, guiding her to his car.

“No,” Daenerys says suddenly, stopping them both. “Not home, my father will see us.”

Jon looks down at her. “I know. He has to know what happened.”

Daenerys meets his eyes, her gaze pleading. “No. Not tonight.”

He begins to object, “I can’t—”

“I’m not asking you to lie. We’ll tell him tomorrow,” Daenerys persists, “it’s late and I don’t want to trouble him. His health’s already bad enough.”

Jon falters for a moment. Does she know? “His health?” Jon questions. “What about it?”

Dany rolls her eyes. “He’s as stubborn as ever but the other day, I caught him loudly coughing in his office. It sounded pretty bad. But it’s not a big deal, I’m certain. It’s just useless to worry him right now, he will go crazy. I still remember how mad he went when that thing happened at my birthday party.”

_It’s not a big deal._ Jon has to clench his teeth together. It is a big deal. If only she knew…. She needs to know. But how can he tell her? This is not his place.

“Please.” Daenerys is speaking again, the pleading tone etched in her voice. “Can you listen to me? Just this one time?”

Jon finds himself nodding. “Yeah. We’ll speak to him tomorrow.”

Daenerys’ phone begins to ring and she stares at Jon in shock. “It’s him,” she hisses before answering, clearing her voice. “Hey dad…no, I was just calling earlier because, um, I’m gonna stay at Sansa’s house tonight since the party’s taking much longer. Yes. Okay, yeah. Alright. Love you too, good night.” Daenerys exhales when she hangs up, shaking her head. “I don’t like lying to him,” she mutters.

Jon nods. “Well, we—”

“Daenerys!”

The new voice causes both Jon and Daenerys to turn around. Jon examines the man storming in their direction carefully. He looks young and familiar, his steps quick and his eyes fixed on Daenerys.

“Robb,” Daenerys calls out.

Robb Stark, Jon mentally confirms.

“I just saw your missed calls and Sandor said you went to the bathroom,” Robb hurriedly announces and upon close inspection, he frowns at the position Daenerys and Jon are in. “What’s wrong? Who’s that?” His eyes find Jon’s.

“Robb, this is my bodyguard…Jon. Jon Snow,” Daenerys slowly says.

Robb nods but goes back to Dany. “What’s wrong?” he demands again.

“I just hurt my leg so I was calling you,” Daenerys lies smoothly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Robb’s shoulders fall with relief as his posture loses some stress. “Gods, okay. I thought something happened,” he confesses.

Jon feels awkward even being here, feeling like he is somehow intruding on this conversation. He thinks of something Gendry told him – about rumours of Robb and Daenerys. Maybe they are together, judging by how this man seems to be unable to pry his eyes from her.

“Nothing happened,” Daenerys assures Robb and Jon is amazed by how easily she lies, how easily she fakes so many things. This talent is both a blessing and a curse, it seems. Jon wonders what part of Daenerys is the real one. The arrogant princess? The loving human being who strives to help and provide for those in need? Or the broken girl he saw in that storeroom, shaking and scared for her life?

Robb’s eyes flicker to Jon for a second and even in the dark, Jon can see a spark of jealousy in them. Men don’t hide jealousy well. “Come with me,” Robb says, “I’ll take you to my house. I’ll see that your leg is fine.”

“I’ll be fine,” Daenerys answers right away, waving him off. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Robb eventually gives up. “Alright, then. I’ll speak with you some other time.” He smiles at her before departing.

As Jon watches him leave, he suddenly realises that since they are not going to the castle he has no idea where to take Daenerys. And the princess seems to have had the same thought as she looks up at him.

“Can I—”

“You should—”

They both stop at the same time.

“Go ahead,” she says.

Jon licks his lips. “You could stay at my house. I don’t think I’m comfortable leaving you alone tonight.”

Daenerys looks down, considering her options. “You don’t mind?” she asks quietly.

Jon knows their situation has been rocky the past few days. He understands her hesitation. “It’s alright with me,” he informs her.

Daenerys meets his eyes again, looking briefly surprised but then relieved all at the same time. “Okay. Thanks.”

They walk to his car in silence.

***

Daenerys tries really hard not to moan in pain with every step she takes. She is grateful for Jon’s hold on her waist but it does not help that every time her foot touches the floor, it feels like the pain has doubled. Like a hammer dropping on her ankle. It seems like forever until they reach his front door, forever as he lets her go fully to unlock the door so she has to stand straight and try not to whine about the pain. But once inside, she does exactly that.

“It hurts so bad,” she complains and practically collapses on his couch, too exhausted, too overcome by so many emotions and too consumed in a haze of pain to ask him for permission or act decent. She inspects the foot, that big, swollen thing, and gasps. “Holy hell, what if I’m never able to walk again?”

When she hears him chuckle, Daenerys looks up and narrows her eyes as she watches Jon shake his head to himself while shrugging off his jacket.

“What?” she asks.

“Never be able to walk again?” he repeats, “you sprained an ankle. I once dislocated my shoulder and—”

Daenerys grunts, even the concept of that too hurtful for her. “I don’t want to hear about that.”

Instead, Jon proposes, “I’ll get some ice for you.”

Dany nods and in the meantime, Ghost comes to her, eagerly settling on her lap and resting his head on her stomach. Daenerys smiles, smoothing her fingers down his fur. Even the littlest things are making her happy right now. An hour ago, Daenerys was fearing for her life. She genuinely thought she was not going to make it. And once someone reaches that possibility, everything after that seems like a miracle.

Seeing Jon was inexplicable. If she was not hurt and wasn’t having a panic attack, she would have hugged him. Real tight. The emotions that exploded in her chest were all too much to handle, she was beyond happy to see his face. And _that_’s saying something.

“Ghost, off,” Jon commands as he comes back with the ice.

Ghost sniffs Daenerys’ hand one last time before obediently trotting away. Dany is surprised. “He listens to you now,” she remarks.

Jon nods distractedly, wrapping the blocks of ice in a piece of cloth. He kneels before her. “It’s going to hurt,” he warns.

Daenerys grits her teeth and the moment he touches her foot, she lets out a gasp.

Jon looks up. “I barely touched you,” he deadpans.

Daenerys’ cheeks heat up. “Well…it hurt.”

“Yeah, well, it’s going to,” he mutters and grabs her leg again.

This time, when he lifts it up, it’s too much. She shrieks and puts her foot back down. Jon sighs. “Are you serious?” he questions.

“It hurts.”

“Have you never sprained something before?” he asks, shaking his head. “C’mon, give me your foot.”

“No.”

“You have to.”

Daenerys frowns and crosses her arms over her chest. “No, it’s painful.”

Jon laughs.

Daenerys stares at him. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Yes,” he deadpans, “you’re being overdramatic.”

_This guy_…. Daenerys scowls. “Give me the ice. I’ll put it myself!”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “You won’t even be able to lift your foot up to put it on.”

Dany challengingly holds her hand out to him. Jon huffs and hands her the piece of cloth. However, despite her stubbornness, Daenerys is not able to do much to rectify her situation, barely able to reach the injury without causing more pain.

She hates the look on Jon’s face as she hands him back the ice.

She bites down on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood as Jon presses the cold cloth against her ankle, the pain spreading around strenuously. He holds it there for a few seconds and Daenerys swallows back a pitiful sound of agony.

To focus on something else than the gnawing sensation at her foot, Daenerys asks, “how did you get there so quickly?”

“I was not home,” Jon explains, “I was on a date. At a restaurant which was only a few blocks away from you.”

“Oh,” Daenerys says and chews on the inside of her cheeks, her chest filling with guilt. It’s quite a shitty sensation. “I apologise…for having ruined your date.”

Jon shrugs nonchalantly.

Daenerys takes in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Jon gazes up at her questioningly. “You already said that.”

“Not about the date,” she elaborates, “about everything else.”

Jon keeps his eyes on her then and Daenerys wants to forever hide from the depths of his grey eyes. He moves his head up and down very carefully. “About what?” he questions.

Daenerys somehow knew he was going to make this apology hard. In some way, she supposes she kind of deserves it. Just a bit. “Everything,” she repeats. “I know I’ve not been the nicest to you.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

She glares at him and he shuts up, listening to her. Daenerys continues slowly, “and I’m sorry for what I tried to do the other day. It was also immature of me to try and use Varys to find…bad stuff about you. It was dumb. And I promise I’ll never try to blackmail you with what I’d found, it’ll remain a secret if that’s what you wish. I really do feel bad about what I did.” She sighs. “There, I said it.” Sansa better be happy about this, Daenerys thinks.

Jon watches her, his eyes intent. “I don’t think I got all of it,though, can you say it all over again?”

Daenerys almost hits him. “You know what, I might actually take it back,” she half-jests.

Jon finally gives her a little smile. “I appreciate your apology.”

“And?” she presses.

“And what?”

“Do you forgive me?”

“I will,” Jon tells her, “if you tell me why you’ve always seemed to hate me.”

Daenerys blinks. She was not expecting that. Jon senses her discomfort and lets go of her foot, standing up. “I deserve to know, don’t I?” he says seriously.

Daenerys looks away. And exhales. “You’ll laugh,” she says.

Jon looks confused. “Why?”

“You just will.”

“I won’t.”

“You laughed at me a few minutes ago,” Daenerys points out.

Jon’s lips quirk up. “Because you’re dramatic.”

“_See_? I’m not going to tell you.” She looks away.

“I swear I won’t laugh,” Jon assures her, sounding sincere.

Daenerys refuses to for a while but eventually decides that since she has already apologised, it’s better to be fully honest with Jon. “I was jealous,” she says and the words feel physically embarrassing as they slip past the security of her lips, “of you and my father.”

Jon does not laugh as he promised. But he does look baffled. “What?”

Daenerys tries her very best to explain. “Thing is, before my mother had me…they were both planning on having a son. My father dreamed of a son. I mean, what kind of monarch doesn’t? It’s not like he was not happy to have me but he just hoped that after me, sons would come. And then my mother—” Daenerys’ throat tightens up and she gulps, “my mother passed away. And he was left with only…me. A little girl.”

“Your father loves you,” Jon interrupts suddenly.

“I know,” Dany says, “but I grew up with him trying to make me into a boy. Unknowingly, he would say and do so many things that would hurt me. I’m not saying he did them intentionally _to_ hurt me but it was just the way things were. Him not marrying again ruined all of his chances of having a son. And despite saying he accepted it, I think some part of his heart never fully did. And I felt like he exteriorised everything he wanted in a son…on _you_.”

Daenerys sees the understanding softening Jon’s features. He begins to shake his head. “I am not his son, though. You are his only child.”

“I know,” Daenerys replies once more, “and I told you that it’s so ridiculous you would laugh at me. I know it sounds crazy but…there were just small things that are hard not to notice growing up. He always spoke of you. Of how great you are, how you saved his life. How many of your championships has he missed?”

Jon frowns. “Two or three, I think.”

Daenerys smiles glumly. “He missed half of my games at school. And if he came he would look bored out of his mind. Unconsciously, he’d do these things that would just make me…bitter and jealous of you and the attention he gave you.” She knows she sounds crazy and by now, she has already dug herself too big of a hole to lie to him or to herself. She might as well come clean. She might as well admit that deep down, she was just stupidly envious of Jon Snow.

Jon sits next to Daenerys. “I never knew you felt that way. All I know is…your father always speaks about you.” He looks at Dany. “Always. Even on our first meeting, he said that he was worried about you and how to keep you safe. I don’t think he realises what he unintentionally does but you should never think that your father would exchange you for a son. Or for me! He won’t and I’m not just saying that. He loves you and is proud of you. And deep down, you know that, Daenerys.”

Daenerys’ eyes shoot up at his. “Daenerys,” she says quizzically.

Jon looks down and shakes his head. “Sorry, I meant—”

“Daenerys is fine,” she tells him.

His dark eyes find hers again.

She shrugs and justifies herself, “you always make ‘ma’am’ sound so mocking and formal.”

“Mocking was intentional,” he declares playfully.

Daenerys narrows her eyes at him. “Careful. You’re still working for me.”

“As you say, _ma’am_.”

She clears her throat. “I meant what I said about the…you getting arrested thing. It’s none of my business.”

“But you’re still curious,” he states.

She cracks a smile. “But I won’t ask you about it. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Oh, no. That wasn’t a mistake. I’d do it again if I could.”

Now, _that_ intrigues Daenerys. She tries to hide it but she can’t help it—she’s always been nosy.

He sighs at her expression. “It was the day when I was leaving the orphanage.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” she swears.

“It’s fine,” he assures her, “It’s not a long story, anyway. I had a friend there who’d always get picked on and one fight got too…out of hand.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not sorry for having put those bullies in their place.”

She chuckles.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “What?”

“It’s just…even the worst thing you did is still something honourable and good,” she says, rolling her eyes, “Dad was right about you.”

“Yeah…well, I never told your father about this because I felt ashamed. He always told me that I should never use these fighting skills to hurt people outside of the ring and that’s what I did anyway.”

“Bad people,” she corrects him. “I’m sure he’ll respect you even more.”

“What did _you_ think I was in prison for?”

“Drug trafficking or something,” she answers.

Jon snorts. “You really want me to be the bad guy, huh?”

Her smile is not mocking or sarcastic. Instead, it softens her features, makes her eyes appear brighter. It does something funny to his heart, something he won’t name. “It’d make my life a lot easier, I’ll tell you that.”

***

Jon walks out of his room at night to get a glass of water. However, he abruptly comes to a stop when he sees Daenerys in front of the guestroom’s door. She looks at him, eyes wide.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I was getting Ghost out,” she says.

Jon frowns. “Why?”

Daenerys looks like she has been caught doing something she should not be. Even in the dim-lit room, Jon sees the pink tainting her cheeks. “I just couldn’t sleep,” she mumbles, not really explaining anything.

Jon eyes her suspiciously. “Is that all?”

Her eyes flash to his. “Yes. Yes, it is.” Daenerys’ eyes flicker down and she sighs. “Can you put a shirt on?”

“This is my house,” Jon says, “why would I need to put a shirt on?”

Daenerys huffs. “Fine. Good night.” She turns to walk away, her steps awkward and unsteady.

The realisation strikes Jon at once. “You’re scared to sleep alone,” he voices out loud. He would have found this funny any other time but given what happened tonight, he finds it understandable that the darkness might bring up some terrifying illusions.

But this is Daenerys Targaryen. And as always, she will absolutely not _just_ agree with something he says. Ever. She freezes. “What? You think I’m scared? Of a little dark room? Wow. You’re crazy, Jon. I am—”

“Do you want me to stay with you for a bit?” Jon asks, hiding a knowing smile.

Daenerys says nothing, her back still to him.

Jon shakes his head. This woman is all sorts of crazy but her stubbornness beats them all. “I’ll get my book and be back,” he announces.

When he comes back to the living room – with a shirt on, Daenerys is tucked on his sofa bed with a frown. “I did not ask for you to come, okay? You did that absolutely _voluntarily_,” she says.

Jon nods. “Sure.”

“And I’m not scared of the dark. Or anything else.”

“Alright.”

“I’m not lying!”

Jon holds his hands up in mock defence. “Never said you were.”

Daenerys sighs in frustration before closing her eyes forcefully. Fully amused, Jon goes back to his novel. Dozens of pages later, he finds himself dozing off. With sleep heavily weighing down on his eyelids, he closes the book and gets up. On the couch, Daenerys Targaryen is fast asleep, her cheek pressed against the cushion, her body curled up on herself, her unruly golden-white hair a contrast to the black skin of the sofa.

She _almost_ looks innocent. Almost looks like she could belong here, in his house, in a normal world where crazy cousins are not trying to murder her. He almost wishes she was normal unexpectedly. Not a princess. Just Daenerys.

He shakes his head. Jon reminds himself that they are not in the same world, she is a universe away from him, as different as ice and fire.

He should really get some sleep.

Jon pulls a blanket over her frame before heading to his own room.

_But sometimes, fire melts ice. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot the amount of cliché shit that happened in this chapter..........i'm (not) sorry. i love it. the story should diverge from the original plot in about 1 or 2 chapters so keep an eye out for that. but as for new readers, let me know what you think. i read all the comments but i suck at replying right away. i don't have a good reason, i'm really just lazy lmao but feedback is always appreciated. see you next time (:


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